


Blessed

by Heizpilz



Series: The Affiliation Trilogy [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, If you're looking for porn this is not the story you're looking for, M/M, Sequel, Some sex but not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heizpilz/pseuds/Heizpilz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek struggles to combine his fledgling relationship with the changes in himself and the threat of hunters, werewolves and other things that go bump in the night.<br/>Or: the one where Derek just wants to hang on to what he’s got.<br/> <br/>Sequel to <i>Invitation Only</i>. Starts the same night after the epilogue.<br/><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote most of this and then Season 4 happened and it put me off a bit. But I finally finished it and then decided to write the last part before posting it because nobody likes the middle part of a trilogy. So it’s all finished and will be posted in one go with barely a break in between.

 

**PROLOGUE**

For a few moments Derek hesitates outside the heavy iron door, his hand already on the rough handle. The loft should be empty. Why isn’t it empty on the one night he wishes it were? During the whole drive home he was looking forward to the solitude, while Scott was seething with suppressed rage in the passenger seat and Isaac huddled unhappily in the back. After Hawkins’ death, the rest of his pack had hurriedly lost their taste for fighting and agreed to a stern suggestion that they should leave the area once they finished burying their alpha.

Although they’d all gone to the preserve in the Camaro, Derek was tempted to make his way back into town on foot. The power that surged through him earlier is prickling under his skin as if all the cells in his body are vibrating with it. It’s different from the first time, stronger and more pervasive, but he doesn’t have to grow into it or learn to control it this time. It’s just there, thrumming away in his body, giving him what he imagines a drugs’ high would feel like. Naturally, he doesn’t know what _any_ high feels like, except how he feels on a full moon – and when he's with Stiles.

It’s tempting to turn around and head back to the woods. Maybe he should exercise until he feels like himself again. Hopefully this time around it won’t take as long to find his equilibrium, but mentally he’s too tired for that. But not being alone right now means that if he goes inside, he’ll have to deal with the consequences of what happened tonight.

Luckily Cora’s been away at college since the summer, riding on a foreign student entry on the grounds of spending so many years in South America. He’s sure it’s not entirely legal, but as he’s paying for her education outright, he’s equally sure no one cares.

He can hear and smell and practically _feel_ Stiles inside the loft. But Stiles shouldn’t be here. He should be at home with his dad, who insists on a curfew on school nights. Derek doesn’t mind that much, since he rates Stiles’s education as highly as his father does. Usually, when the sheriff’s on night shift though, Stiles sneaks out anyway. Well, it’s not exactly sneaking when he has his father’s tacit permission. Stilinski seems to prefer Stiles not to be alone after what happened with Hawkins. Naturally Stiles tells him he’s staying with Scott on those occasions, but all parties involved know that it’s just a front to create plausible deniability in the eyes of the law. However, today isn’t one of those nights and for the first time since they’ve been together Derek would prefer to be alone. Just this once.

Maybe the reason Stiles has turned up unexpectedly is because Scott’s already told him what happened. Derek wouldn’t put it past him. No doubt it was accompanied by numerous subtle and not so subtle complaints that Derek planned it all and is an irresponsible, out-of-control and power-hungry jerk. Derek could even get on board with one or two of those accusations.

He _didn’t_ plan it. What happened was exactly what Stiles had feared would happen – and since when does Stiles know better how Derek will react than he himself does? During his fight with Hawkins, he lost all control, and what had been meant as a lesson that the alpha would never forget turned into the last lesson he’d ever learn, with an unwelcome one for Derek thrown into the mix. He was powerless to stop himself. Feeling the way he does now, he doesn’t regret it as such, but there’s Stiles to consider.

Despite everything he’s seen and been through and copious amounts of sarcasm, Stiles wants to save the world or at least his own little corner of the world. He may suggest killing the problem more often than not, but unless they’re dealing with downright and irrefutable evil he believes that any person can and should be saved. Scott believes the same thing but in a different way. For Scott it appears to be about proving that it can be done, that he doesn’t have to succumb to the wolf inside him. Not to mention that he lacks the imagination for a more nuanced worldview. He refuses to kill on principle. By contrast, Stiles is all about genuine compassion notwithstanding his frequent declarations to the contrary. It seems a miracle that he and Derek ever ended up together, they’re so very different. Stiles should be with some nice boy or girl, who feels the same way and has none of Derek’s ingrained cynicism.

At the moment he feels like a cheating husband coming home with his tail between his legs because he couldn’t resist temptation. He wants to be angry with Stiles for making him feel that way but all he wishes is that he didn’t have to do this _right now_. He could do with some time to think and to prepare what to say, time to delay the inevitable. One day Stiles will have enough of him and leave. Derek _knows_ this. He was just hoping he wouldn’t give him a reason to do that quite so soon.

He pulls his leather jacket a bit tighter around his body and opens the door. Stiles is lying on the couch reading a book, one of his habitual poses when he’s here although normally his head rests in Derek's lap. Despite always complaining that there’s no TV at the loft, he’s read almost as many of Derek’s books by now as Derek has and added quite a few of his own to the collection. When he sees Derek, he jumps up and comes bounding over in that excited, cheerful way that he has whenever they meet.

“Guess what? There was a murder-suicide downtown and my dad had to work tonight. Lucky, eh? Well, not exactly lucky for the people involved but lucky for us. And I feel really bad for rejoicing every time something terrible happens and Dad has to go into work. Really, it keeps me awake at night… Oh wait, that’s not what’s keeping me awake on those nights.” He grins impishly. “I brought my school stuff for tomorrow morning and my homework is all done. You were gone so long, I was beginning to worry. Of course, there’s no need to worry with you and Scott and Isaac being together, but you never... what _the hell_ happened?”

He’s come close enough to touch Derek, slipping his hands under his jacket and coming across the slashes in his shirt. Too bad his clothes don’t mend the same way his body does.

“Did you get into a fight? Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay.” Derek bends towards Stiles until they’re kissing, making it long and deep, in case he won’t have the opportunity again after telling him what happened.

Stiles responds as enthusiastically as he always does. Then he pulls away gently. “You should have a shower. You’re caked in blood. What happened?”

“Do you want to come with me?” Derek’s a little desperate. He knows he has to tell him, but he really doesn’t want to, not yet. This isn’t so much about going against Stiles’s wishes – they both make their own decisions, even against the other’s advice – and more about the fact that he couldn’t control himself and the implication that has for being with someone. He would never hurt Stiles, but Stiles isn’t a werewolf and at some point he will stop being all understanding and abhor the things Derek has done and – apparently – still does.

Stiles just smiles and takes his hand to lead him to the bathroom. There he removes Derek’s clothes very slowly, running his hands over the exposed skin as he’s pulling each item off, taking stock of his body at the same time. He dumps the tattered, blood-crusted shirt in the trash, before proceeding to strip him completely naked. Derek’s agitated blood runs naturally to his cock, making Stiles smirk as it swells with alacrity. But when Derek reaches for him, he steps back.

“ _Nooo_ ,” he says, stretching the word as if he’s talking to a particularly slow child. “Remember what we said about talking about things? How it’s good for the soul? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re avoiding my questions and as much as I want to get into that shower with you right now... _What._ _Happened_?”

All Derek wants to do is grab him and fuck him against the wall, just like they did the other day when everything was still the way it’s been since they started out. He remembers these urges from the last time he had this power. Apparently being an alpha comes with an alpha libido as well. Turning away, he puts his underwear back on, followed by his jeans. He’s still half-hard so he leaves them unzipped, but he’s not having this conversation while he’s naked.

When he turns around, Stiles is watching him intently, looking more than a little concerned. “That bad, eh?” he asks, but his voice doesn’t quite find the light-hearted tone he’s aiming for. When Derek doesn’t answer, he nods. “Okay. Twenty questions?” Stiles always thinks Derek can’t talk about things, when most of the time he just finds it unnecessary.

For a few moments longer Derek stares at him, trying to organize his options in his head. He can do this. He can explain. Or _not_ because he can never work out how much Stiles actually understands what it really means to be a werewolf. True, he’s been living with the knowledge of their existence for over two years now, but his only in-depth study comes from his best friend. And Scott is still in denial in many ways, still thinks that being a werewolf doesn’t have to invade every part of his life. Derek knows better.

“I’m not playing games with you,” he says solemnly. Then, after a deep breath, “We were in the woods. There was a fight. And it got a little out of hand.”

“Define ‘a little’.”

Derek takes another deep breath. Eventually he simply flashes his eyes. It seems so much easier than saying it out loud. Stiles will know the worst without long explanations and they can take it from there. But the expected tirade fails to materialize.

For once, Stiles is silent. All the blood drains from his face and then he stumbles back a little until he hits his back against the sink. “No!” His voice is firm as if he can change reality if he just refuses to accept it with enough determination. He shakes his head, his eyes wide with shock. “Oh, God, please, tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t go out there for that. It just happened.”

“It just ha… no, no, no, no, no... it’s not true. You wouldn’t do this to me.” Stiles lifts both hands, fingertips pressing hard against his temples, as if he’s suffering a very painful headache. He turns and staggers towards the door, looking disoriented and taking gulping breaths, but falls to his knees before he can get there.

Derek watches his reaction, wondering why he seems devastated rather than the anticipated angry or disappointed and realizing that this is a panic attack. What is he supposed to do? His father said to talk to him as calmly as possible, reminding him to breathe, doing breathing exercises – in through your nose, out through your mouth – but he didn’t say what to do if he was actually the one _causing_ the attack. Will talking to Stiles just make it worse? Should he call someone? But then the labored breaths turn to sobs. He walks over and squats in front of him. “Stiles?”

“Don’t touch me,” Stiles gasps through his tears. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

What the fuck is going on? Derek knew he’d be upset, but this is way beyond his expectations. It’s not as if Stiles really knew the guy or as if Hawkins wasn’t despicable. Stiles knows that better than anyone. But the tears push everything from Derek‘s mind. He can’t bear it when Stiles is hurting in any way and he just wants it to stop by any means possible. “It wasn’t deliberate,” he says softly. “I didn’t go out there to kill him. We just wanted to make sure that they’ll never come back here. But then… you were right, okay? I should have stayed away from them.”

“What are you talking about?” Despite what he just said, Stiles grabs Derek’s arms urgently, digging in his nails. “Who’s _they_? Did… what… you... Scott…“

“Hawkins and his pack. They came back and we couldn’t let that happen. Even Scott agreed.” He feels more than a little pathetic for citing Scott as some kind of authority, but it seems to work on Stiles.

He inhales a few times, deep and gulping, the air rattling into his lungs through his panic-clogged airways. “Scott’s alright? You… didn’t... kill him?”

“Who? _Scott_? Of course, not. Don’t you think I would have told you that straight away? You thought I killed _Scott_?” When he thinks about it properly, it seems a little less crazy since Stiles didn’t know that the other pack was anywhere near Beacon Hills. As far as he knew, Derek went into the woods with Scott and Isaac and came back an alpha. “Oh, God, Stiles, I’m so sorry. Scott’s fine. A little pissed off but otherwise okay. It was Hawkins.”

Stiles is only half-listening. He scrambles back until he’s sitting with his back against the cold tile wall, still struggling for even breaths, and takes out his cellphone. Then he speed-dials the first number and waits for the connection. He closes his eyes when Scott’s voice comes on and inhales his first easy mouthful of air. And another. The anxiety starts to leak out of him at a slow rate.

“Scott?”

Derek has no qualms about listening in.

_“Stiles? What’s up, man?”_

“How are things?” There’s a strange little hiccup-y sound at the end of that question.

_“Uhm… things are okay. We just got back. Are you okay? You sound strange. Where are you?”_

“I’m fine. I’m at Derek’s. Just wanted to see how you are.”

_“Did he tell you what happened?”_

Stiles opens his eyes and looks straight at Derek. “Yeah, he kind of did. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

_“Uhm… sure. See you at school tomorrow?”_

“Yeah. Bye, Scott.” Stiles’s hand drops limply to his lap after he disconnects the call.

“You didn’t believe me.” Derek tries to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“I believed you.”

“Just not enough that you didn’t have to check anyway.”

“No. I wasn’t checking. I just wanted to hear his voice. A minute ago I thought he was dead. I think I have a right to want to talk to him just because I still can.”

Derek can understand that. It’s natural to want to renew and reaffirm your bond with someone after you had reason to worry about them. He still finds it hard sometimes to let Stiles out of his sight. Sitting down on the chilly floor next to him, he leans against the wall as well, their arms touching in a welcome warm contact and Stiles’s scent filling his nostrils, his whole being.

“I thought you killed Scott.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Derek huffs a mirthless laugh. He’s glad, too, but Stiles’s reaction makes him wonder what would happen if he ever had to make a choice between Scott and Derek. He doesn’t usually allow himself to think along those lines. For one thing, despite all the animosity between him and the other alpha, he can’t imagine a situation where such a choice should become necessary. And for another, he’s almost certain of the answer and doesn’t want to think about it. He knows that against all appearances, he’s the one who’s more invested in this. And that’s the way it should be. This relationship shouldn’t be on Stiles.

“So, you killed Hawkins? How are you feeling?”

Derek smiles because Stiles’s default setting is always concern. He’s not asking about how it happened or why, not yet. All he wants to know for now is how it affects Derek. “I’m buzzing, bursting with energy. It’ll become more bearable in a couple of days.”

There’s the barest puff of a laugh. “And I can’t believe you actually know that because you have experience with becoming an alpha.” Stiles gets up and holds out his hand to help him up off the floor. It’s a gesture so laughably redundant that it conveys beautifully how much he cares. “Let’s get you into that shower. And then we go to bed and see if we can do something about all this excess energy that you have.”

Smirking, Derek gets up and uses the extended hand to pull them flush against each other. Stiles leans into the kiss and returns it with fervor. Then he leans back a little, adding, “And tomorrow you will tell me exactly what happened and I’ll give you the _what-were-you-thinking_ speech for being so stupid. And then I’ll have the same talk with Scott.”

Derek sighs. He knew he wouldn’t get away with it that easily.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

**1.**

When Derek calls Cora to tell her about becoming an alpha again, she doesn’t believe him for a full five minutes before whooping in delight. Then she catches the next bus home to stay for the weekend, which turns out a little inconvenient. For one, he has long suspected that Cora is quite ambitious. She probably wouldn’t mind becoming an alpha herself, but failing that, she wants Derek to achieve things he’s not sure he wants. He can’t see himself as the patriarch of a renewed Hale family. He doesn’t really want kids - although he doesn’t rule them out in the long-term - but at the moment all he can see in his future is Stiles and that might make procreation a tad difficult.

Another problem with Cora is that she doesn’t like Stiles. That’s not even completely true. She likes Stiles well enough, she just doesn’t like him being with Derek. In her opinion her brother could do better. Added to that is the fact that he and Stiles had the loft to themselves for so long, they find it hard to break their habit of doing whatever they want when they’re together and both of them are very tactile. So Stiles decides to spend the weekend with his dad and maybe with Scott, if he’s available. It’s only for three days, so not having sex for that time should be achievable. Derek can’t remember it being quite this hard though, no pun intended.

On Sunday evening, Cora leaves him with suggestions for forming a larger pack and that maybe they could look for and discuss some candidates when she comes home for her next break. Despite his objections, she thinks giving the bite to selected people is the way to go. Derek already knows he won’t go down that road. He’s been there, done that and it brought him nothing but pain. Stiles wouldn’t stand for it either. He disapproved of it the last time and he’ll disapprove now. So there’s no need to open that can of worms.

After he’s dropped her off at the bus station, he swings by the Stilinski house even though it’s a school night. He texts in advance and Stiles seems as keen to meet – if only to say hello in person – as Derek is. The sheriff lets him in with a nod and simply asks if he wants to watch the game until Stiles gets back.

“Uhm, he told me ten minutes ago he was home.”

“Yes, I know. He is. Well, obviously not right now, but he’ll be back in a moment. With pizza.”

Derek nods and takes a seat on the living room couch, feeling awkward and under a microscope despite the sheriff seeming to be focused on nothing but the TV screen. He accepts a beer, which he then doesn’t feel like drinking. If he could get drunk, he might gulp it down, but he can’t, so he just rolls the bottle between his palms, warming it steadily. There are some questions about Cora, which he answers politely, realizing that Stiles must have told his father the reason for being home for the weekend, which is definitely an exception to the rule.

His phone buzzes and he’s dismayed to find a message from Stiles. If Stiles is messaging him, then he’s not about to walk in the door to rescue him from this torture.

_Sorry. Dad made me leave. Back asap._

Derek has never been in this situation before. He never had to do the meet-the-family thing. It should be easy in this case, since the sheriff already knows him. Or maybe that makes it worse. Who would want their child to be with a werewolf, one they’ve arrested in the past, no less? He knows he’s done nothing wrong. He’s been upfront with Stilinski like he hasn’t been with many people in his life. But the fact remains that the man in the armchair across the room is the father of the guy he has sex with – a lot – although it would be surprising, not to mention disturbing, if that was at the forefront of the sheriff’s mind. _Don’t think about that. Think about something else._ He should calm down and enjoy the game. It’s just that they’ve never really been alone before without good reason.

“Do you play?” Stilinski asks conversationally.

“Used to play basketball.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“It was pointless. Too many unfair advantages.”

“Scott still plays lacrosse.”

Derek nods without comment.

The sheriff looks at him for a while, then nods as well. “Never thought about that before.”

Derek still feels like a high schooler picking up his date for the prom and having to endure the father’s scrutiny. That’s some kind of rite of passage, isn’t it? Only, he left high school after the fire and never got around to having a prom and he’s way too old for this shit. The sheriff’s not intimidating in any way, nor is he trying to be, but it’s still discomfiting as hell. Eventually, Derek puts his drink down on the low coffee table. “Is there something you wanted?”

Stilinski looks surprised, then ill at ease. “I don’t know, to be honest. I’d feel better if I knew you a little more. You’ve been my son’s… boyfriend for over three months now, but I only ever see you in passing, waiting in your car, or standing awkwardly in the doorway. Are you avoiding me? Should I be concerned about that?”

“Of course, I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, I thought you’d prefer that for professional reasons. The less you know and all that. For another, I stand awkwardly in the doorway because it _is_ awkward.”

“Doesn’t have to be. I have no problem with Stiles’s choices. With all the stuff that’s going on in Beacon Hills, who he’s with is the least of my worries as long as he’s happy. I know he’s not going to stop getting in the middle of things. At least, when he’s with you, I know he’s safe.”

Derek lowers his eyes. It’s true that he would defend Stiles to his dying breath, but nobody’s ever been safe with him. “I wouldn’t say…”

“Hey, guys,” Stiles calls from the front door and appears in the living room some five seconds later. Derek’s never been so happy to see him.

Stilinski frowns. “Where’s the pizza?”

“I got bored waiting, so I told them to deliver. You know I can’t keep my mind on things for more than a few minutes. And then there’s my impulse control or lack thereof. I just felt like coming home and here I am. Derek, can I talk to you for a minute? In my room?”

Derek is out of his seat immediately. “It was nice talking to you, sir.” He makes his way up the stairs first, hearing Stiles snicker behind him.

“Did you just _sir_ my dad? That’s kind of weird. I’d have thought you two would have progressed to first names by now, all things considered. Does he still call you _Hale_ , all deep voice and professional like? Because I know he knows your first name. It was on your rap sheet.”

Derek wonders for a moment what the sheriff’s first name actually is and is just about to ask, but they’ve reached Stiles’s room now. Within seconds he feels himself pressed against the inside of the door and Stiles is kissing him eagerly and he no longer cares if the sheriff even has a first name.

“Don’t ever leave me alone with your dad again.”

“Hey, he made me go and get pizza. I was just being an obedient son. It’s in my best interest to keep him happy. And yours, I may add.”

Derek turns them around so that Stiles is flattened against the wood now and holds his hands above his head, fingers interlaced. “Admit it, you thought it was funny.”

Stiles is trying to kiss various parts of Derek’s face but can’t quite reach any of them as Derek pulls back every time he tries. “Maybe at first,” he admits finally. “But then I changed my mind. I came back, didn’t I? Will you kiss me already? It’s been two days. Two _looong_ days, where I had to sleep alone and think of you. And you know what happens when I think of you, especially when I’m in bed. Or do you want details? Because I could tell you how I…”

“Stiles,” he says warningly. “If you give me a boner when I have to walk past your dad to get out of here, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Kind of the idea,” Stiles grins wildly. Then, very slowly, the grin turns into a gentle smile. “I missed you.”

Derek looks down at him, feeling so many emotions that he lets go of his hands to cradle Stiles's head and kiss him. This is always so _good._ He could do this for hours. Luckily, so far, Stiles has never complained about marathon make-out sessions. As it usually leads to having sex eventually, he’s not likely to either. “You, too,” Derek finally mumbles against his lips, just as Stilinski shouts up the stairs that the pizza’s arrived.

He ends up spending two hours in front of the TV, watching the game, eating pizza, and it turns out better than expected. Everything’s better with Stiles around.

 

 

 

Peter turns up the next afternoon. It isn’t entirely unexpected, but Derek had hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with this quite yet.

“Who told you?” Derek asks in lieu of a greeting, when his uncle lets himself in.

“Can’t I just visit my nephew?”

“No. You’re not the caring type and I don’t particularly want you here. So this is unlikely to be a social visit or for my benefit.”

“That’s harsh.” As usual, Peter seems more amused than offended. “But since I’m here, let me congratulate you. What are you going to do?”

Derek shrugs and carries on working on the plans for the second floor of the Hale house. Cora is right. If he doesn’t want to add to his pack or his family, the house will be too big for him, especially since there’s no way in hell, he’ll let Peter move back into it.

“You’re an alpha, you need a bigger pack unless you want to end up as feeble as McCall.”

Derek ignores him.

“You could have the twins. McCall doesn’t want them and they would be a real asset. Strong and ruthless.”

Derek glowers at him. “I know all about how ruthless they are, thank you very much.”

“You shouldn’t hold grudges. This is about power. Personal feelings don’t come into it.”

“Personal feelings don’t come into anything for you. Why is everyone so concerned about what I’m going to do? Who told you anyway?”

“Cora.”

Derek can’t help but feel a little betrayed by that. It’s not as if Peter wouldn’t have found out otherwise – being an alpha isn’t something he could or would want to hide – but Cora knows how he feels about their uncle. He thought she felt the same. Apparently not, if she enlisted him as an ally. She must have realized that expanding the pack isn’t on his list of priorities.

“I have this friend…” Peter starts.

Derek looks up, feigning surprise. “You have _friends_?”

“More than you know. This one’s a little sick though. Cancer. He’s not much older than you. He would be a great candidate to join your pack.”

Derek grunts and turns back to his drawing, saying, “I would never have anyone in my pack who comes recommended by you.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Peter says, but resignedly, as if he expected no less.

Distantly, Derek can hear familiar footsteps hurrying up the stairs and they both look expectantly towards the door long before it’s thrown open. Stiles stops in the doorway, looking at Peter in dismay. It could be his general reaction to the man or have more to do with his arousal that’s apparent across the space of the loft. This is the first time they’re going to be alone after the weekend and Stiles is a teenager, so it’s probably natural to be impatient. Derek wasn’t with anyone at that age, so he wouldn’t know. What he does know is that scenting Stiles always causes a reaction in him, too.

“Time to go,” he says to Peter, putting down his pencil and registering out of the corner of his eyes that Stiles is smiling brightly in relief.

“Yeah.” Peter looks Stiles up and down scornfully, then back at Derek. “I’ll leave you with your little boytoy.”

“Stiles is many things, Peter, but a toy isn’t one of them.”

Peter just grins and makes his way to the door. “If you’re so enamored with him, you should make _him_ pack.”

Crossing the loft in a flash, Derek pins Peter by his throat against the wall next to the door, fangs and claws extended and eyes flashing. “Don’t you ever talk about that again. You’re the last person I’d take advice from on that score. And if you come anywhere near Stiles, I’ll forget that you’re family. Stay away. Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him. Or I _will_ rip your throat out. Are we clear?”

Having taken a step away from the action when the physical altercation started, Stiles now moves closer again. “Derek?” he says quietly, half in question, half as a caution.

Derek sincerely hopes that Peter isn’t on the list of people Stiles considers worth saving, because, quite frankly, Derek thinks he’s irredeemable. He gives him a hard shove towards the door, careening him halfway through.

Peter just chuckles. “I don’t know what he tells you, but I know for a fact that little Stiles isn't as opposed to the bite as he pretends to be. Ask him.” He raises his hand jauntily in good-bye before walking down the stairs.

Derek pulls the door shut so forcefully that it bounces back once before he can close it properly. He locks it for good measure.

“That was about Paige, right?” Stiles says quietly, having lost all of the eager excitement he came in with.

Derek can feel his own heart stop for a beat, before accelerating to twice as fast as normal, while his stomach shrinks into a tight knot. His instinct to either fight or flee makes him whirl around because flight’s not an option. “What do _you_ know about Paige?” He reels himself in a little when he sees Stiles flinch back.

But Stiles is by no means shy or timid, so he squares his shoulders and looks calmly at Derek before saying, ”Peter told Cora and me about Paige. He was explaining to Cora why you’ve changed from how she remembers you, but I think he was really just wanting to tell us. He made it sound as if he was the voice of reason at the time and it was all your idea. But that’s not true, is it?”

“What if it was?” Derek challenges, trying to make himself shut up and failing miserably. “I made the decision. Why I made it doesn’t alter the facts. What if I do it again? I don’t even need any help this time. I could just do it myself.”

Stiles lifts up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Woah, shall we back up a bit here? I think backing up would be a good idea. Let’s back up.”

Derek stalks over to the table but once he’s there, he can’t remember why he thought it would be a good idea to do that. He wants to be back over there, where Stiles is, not making this worse by evading him after what he just said. He didn’t realize that Stiles knew about Paige and he had no intention of ever mentioning it. Somehow he’s not surprised that Peter told everyone. That must have been very gratifying for him. He doesn’t want to talk about it, can’t talk about it, but he can’t just leave it either.

“What did he tell you?” he asks without turning around.

“That it was all your idea and he tried to talk you out of it.”

Derek snorts and hears Stiles huff a laugh in return.

“Yeah, I knew that wasn’t true. Peter must be the ultimate unreliable narrator. I trust that the basic facts are correct and that’s it. I’m glad he told us though, because you wouldn’t, would you?”

“No.”

Very slowly Stiles comes over to him as if he’s approaching a dangerous animal. Derek hates that he’s the cause of that. When Stiles stops by the side of the table, they’re close but not touching and Derek really wants to be touching, but at the same time he’s not sure if he could bear it.

Stiles’s voice is soothing. “We don’t have to talk about it. God knows, there are things I don’t want to talk about either. I know it’s difficult to believe with me talking all the time, but it’s true. So we don’t have to talk about it but…”

When there’s a pause, Derek finally looks up. “But what?”

“I need to know you won’t make any decisions for me. I don’t think you will, but I’d like to be sure.”

There’s no hesitation. “ _Be_ sure.”

Stiles smiles happily and takes a step closer so there’s barely an inch between them now. Derek’s too embarrassed to look at him. Did he really just threaten to turn him without his consent? He wouldn’t even do that _with_ consent. The risk is too great. He was ashamed that Stiles knows what he did and just lashed out. He’s such a fuck-up, no control at all. Stiles lifts his hand – a little hesitantly, as if he expects Derek to jerk away at any moment – until his palm is placed against Derek's cheek. Maybe he’s not so much expecting a dangerous animal as a skittish one.

“I _was_ sure. I just needed you to say it because I don’t think _you_ were.”

Derek leans into the touch, then puts his arm around the slim waist and pulls him flush. He still marvels that he’s allowed to do that, that he can touch pretty much whenever he feels like it and it’s always welcome. He would give up anything if he could make that last forever.

 

 

 

The weather is turning too unpredictable to work on the house much. Derek's just putting the finishing touches on it to stop the elements from destroying all his hard work over the winter. He does most of that during school hours now because although he might not feel the cold much, Stiles does, so their weekends are now spent mainly indoors.

But they’re both out there one Saturday about three weeks later, just checking up after two days of high winds. Everything seems to be holding. There’s just a small piece of tarpaulin that came away and Derek is up on the roof to fix it when he hears them.

There are two men approaching the house from different directions and they’re already much closer than he’d like when he starts paying attention. Which can’t mean anything good, especially since he’s certain they’re not werewolves.

He jumps down from the roof, landing softly on the ground and calling to Stiles, who’s inside the house. Stiles appears on the veranda almost immediately, still huddled up in several layers of clothing, obviously hoping it’s time to go.

“Get in the car.”

“What?”

“The car. Now!”

If there’s one thing Stiles has learnt over the past two years, it’s not to question certain tones from certain people. He jogs over to his jeep, retrieving his keys from his pockets on the way, but pauses in the open door. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“I can outrun them. Go!” That may have been true when he first heard them, but he’s not so sure now. They’re approaching fast, sacrificing stealth for speed.

“Not leaving. Get in the car.” Stiles’s obstinacy is definitely something that will have to be addressed at some point. Now’s not the time.

Then Derek can see the first one through the tree line. It’s a thick-set guy in a plaid jacket with a crossbow trained on him. That can only mean one thing: _hunters_. He can hear the other one reaching the house and rounding it to block his escape. He doubts that he’ll be fast enough to outrun both of them now, if he ever was.

Stiles has spotted them, too. He comes back to Derek with measured steps, trying to convey the idea that he’s not posing any kind of threat. Which is unfortunately only too true.

“Stiles, leave,” Derek hisses.

“Yeah, think again, big guy,” Stiles says just as he takes his place at Derek's side.

“What do we have here?” the man in plaid says, coming to a stop a few feet away. “Looks like we bagged an omega.”

Derek can’t help but growl at the remark.

“Does the kid know what you are?” the guy on the right, who’s brandishing a rifle, asks Derek.

“The kid has a name,” Stiles says coldly. “It’s Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. And if you’re wondering, yes, _Sheriff_ Stilinski _is_ my father. And he happens to get very annoyed when people come along and threaten his son and his son’s friends with lethal weapons. Of course, I could find it in my heart not to tell him, if you guys lower your weapons and leave.”

Plaid-jacket chuckles, but Derek can hear the strain behind it. Even hunters don’t like to draw attention to themselves by picking a straight-on fight with the law enforcement in town. “You’re a feisty one. What are you doing out here with him?” He nods towards Derek.

“Minding my own business. Which I would highly recommend. It’s hugely beneficial to your overall well-being.”

“We’ve no beef with you, kid. You’re free to go.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen without Derek. You see, I’m kinda attached to this one. So I suggest you let both of us leave and I won’t set my dad on you. Derek hasn’t done anything wrong and I know you guys have a code. So why don’t you go and ask Chris Argent about him before you start something you might regret? That would really help solve a lot of problems before they arise.”

“Argent‘s still in Beacons Hills? You know him?”

“I could give you his address if you like.”

“Show us your eyes, dog.”

Derek growls at that. He’s not really a talker when faced with a confrontation. He tends to lash out first and leave the questions and explanations for later, so he’s happy to leave the talking to Stiles while he assesses the situation. His instincts tell him that he could escape if he can manage to move through the house for cover until he’s far enough away to be out of range. Not having any doors yet is an advantage for once. But even attempting it is out of the question with Stiles here. Attacking them would also be hopeless. They’re too spread out for him to reach more than one of them before the other gets him. And it would put Stiles into the line of fire, too.

“Show ‘em your eyes, sweetie,” Stiles says facetiously.

Derek growls again and flashes his eyes at him first, then shows them to plaid-jacket. He has no doubt that if they were still blue, he would be dead in seconds and Stiles, too, most likely.

“You’re an alpha.”

“Well spotted, Sherlock,” Stiles mocks. “Now that you know who we are, maybe you’d like to introduce yourselves.”

Plaid-jacket chuckles. “You’ve got guts, I give you that, kid, but I don’t think so. You may leave. Both of you. But this isn’t over, make no mistake.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Stiles mutters. “Lower your weapons. We’re not moving until you do. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

“I thought not.” The leader gives a signal and they lower their weapons in unison. Derek knows it doesn’t mean much. They can bring them up again just as quickly as he can change and attack them. But it’s a show of good faith on their part and he’ll take it if it means he can get Stiles out of here. He moves towards the jeep, walking backwards, keeping himself between Stiles and the hunters at all times.

When they’re both in the vehicle, Stiles peels out of there as fast as he can, his hands so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles are white. They’re both silent during the ride. Derek's mind is racing with the implications, trying to suppress the thought that, once again, he’s put Stiles in danger.

Outside Scott’s house, he puts his hand on Stiles’s arm to stop him from exiting the car. “Are you okay?” Stiles’s heartbeat's been thumping wildly since the hunters first turned up and has only slightly slowed down in the meantime. Derek marvels at his courage. With no special powers, he still never backs down. Anybody can be brave when they’re not vulnerable, but only the truly courageous are full of fear and do what they feel they must anyway.

“I’m fine. We have to tell Scott.”

Derek cups a hand behind his neck and waits until he moves forward on his own accord for a kiss.

When they separate, Stiles’s smile is soft. “What was that for?”

“No particular reason. You go and tell Scott. I’m gonna go home. Come by when you’re done.” He really doesn’t feel like exposing himself to Scott’s sulkiness. Since he became an alpha again, Scott’s hardly said two words to him.

“I can drive you.”

“It’s alright. I’ll walk.” He needs to expend some energy.

They both get out of the car, but Derek calls Stiles back before he can dash up Scott’s drive. “If you ever do something that stupid again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Stiles grins. “I look forward to it.”

Derek doesn’t know whether to smile or growl.

 

 

 

Two hours later, Stiles throws open the door to the loft, announcing, “I brought the guys,” as he walks in. He grins at Derek. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” He’s always so fascinated by his abilities that Derek feels like showing off all the time.

Derek knew Stiles wasn’t alone from the moment he set foot in the building. He’s already resigned himself to having his loft invaded by teenagers again as Scott, Kira, Isaac and Allison pile in but becomes more alert at the last of his guests. Chris Argent waits just outside the door, taking a quick look at the large space, then meets Derek's eyes.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course, you can,” Scott says, with a slightly embarrassed look at Allison.

“Not your house, dude,” Stiles says lazily before Derek can respond. There’s no heat in his voice, just an almost amused reminder.

Scott looks at him, then grimaces at his faux-pas like he wouldn’t have done if Derek had reprimanded him. That would probably have resulted in a major argument. Now Scott just lifts both hands in an appeasing gesture – aimed at Stiles, not Derek.

Derek hasn’t taken his eyes off Argent yet. In a sense, Allison is far more dangerous than her father, with her temper being so much more volatile. But Argent is a major opponent when he’s focused on a fight. Derek glances at Stiles, who looks back unhappily, undoubtedly wondering if he’s done the right thing bringing a hunter to Derek's home. Deciding to trust the brat’s judgment, he nods. “You can come in, but leave your weapons by the door.”

“Don’t have any,” Argent says serenely. “That would be impolite.”

Derek doesn’t consider politeness one of the Argents’ family traits but doesn’t point that out. Smiling, Stiles comes over and leans next to him against the large table, folding his arms just like Derek in an unconscious imitation. Maybe if they grow old together, they’ll start to look and dress alike and finish each other’s sentences. Despite the horror of that idea, growing old with Stiles doesn’t sound so bad to Derek. He likes how he naturally assumes his place at his side as if the loft belongs to both of them.

“Mr. Argent knows the hunters,” Stiles fills him in as an aside.

Why doesn’t that come as a surprise? “Figures,” he mutters and Stiles elbows him, while chortling like the juvenile he still is.

Argent watches them askance. No doubt he would much rather tear the poor child away from the big bad wolf than talk to the both of them. “The way Stiles described them, the leader is called Tom Farnham. The other one is Melvin Zimmerman. They’re old-school hunters. And I’m sorry to say they won’t come to me for advice.” He pauses, then adds, “They’re friends of Gerard’s.”

Derek nods silently, filing away the information. The others have started a discussion on what they should do in this situation, which sounds very much like the continuation of something they’ve discussed before. He can’t help but ask himself what they’re even doing here. They could have done this at Scott’s house.

The general consensus seems to be that none of the werewolves should be out on their own. Just why they think that the hunters will be deterred by a human, he has no idea. It’s more likely that it only worked with Stiles today because he threw the sheriff into the mix. Hunters aren’t known to mind human witnesses when those witnesses already know about werewolves. If things come to a head, they probably consider them collateral damage.

“Who’s gonna be with Derek when we’re at school?” Stiles asks suddenly. “I mean, I can ask my dad if I can move in here for a while, but I have to go to school. We all do.”

There’s an awkward silence that doesn’t register with Derek for the thirty seconds he’s indulging in the fantasy of living with Stiles. Then he frowns at everyone’s expression. They range from discomfited to downright appalled. Only Kira looks somewhat concerned.

“If you think I’m going to use you as a shield, even if I thought it would work, you’ve got another thing coming. In fact, you should stay away from the loft while these guys are in town.”

Stiles stares at him. “You’re an idiot.” It’s a familiar insult, uttered with the usual strange mixture of exasperation and fondness.

“Not me who’s the idiot here.” No, that would be the rest of them, except maybe Argent, who looks like he’s on the same page. Or maybe he’s just hoping Derek will finally get himself killed.

“So you’d rather fight than take simple measures to avoid any of that,” Scott flares up.

“No,” Derek says slowly. “I would rather fight without having to worry about a human to protect.”

“The idea is to _avoid_ a fight. Not that you’ve ever tried to do that.”

“They won’t care. All _your_ plan’s going to accomplish is endangering the people around you.”

Argent clears his throat before Scott can retort and wades in with, “I have to agree with Derek.” His expression shows clearly how much it pains him to admit that. “If they suspect your friends know what you are, they won’t care much about them. To them anybody who's friends with a werewolf is a collaborator. They won’t harm them but humans won’t be a protection either.”

“Then what?” Isaac asks.

“Be sensible,” Derek says. “Don’t go anywhere where they can catch you alone. Stay in places where there are lots of people. They won’t want too many witnesses. And lock your doors and windows. We’ve dealt with hunters before. It’s not that difficult.”

It’s strange to be on the same side as Chris Argent, but he seems to be the only one who judges the situation accurately. The teens always rely far too much on their friendship. He watches them for a while longer. It’s always interesting to study their behavior. Allison and Isaac have obviously progressed to a physical relationship, although he can’t tell if Argent knows. Probably not. Scott and Kira aren’t there yet, but not far off. Derek kind of likes Kira. She seems nice enough, makes interesting contributions and has some great moves from what he’s seen, although he hasn’t quite worked out what exactly she is.

Stiles has moved away from the table to be more in the thick of things, talking animatedly and arguing with passion. He always likes to have a plan. It makes him feel more secure. The idea of just being careful and hoping for the best doesn’t sit right with him. He keeps shooting smiles at Derek, encouraging him to sit with the others, but Derek is much happier where he is right now. Does Stiles even realize how uncomfortable his friends are with their relationship? It’s there in every gesture and every furtive glance, not just at Derek but also at Stiles.

Argent hasn’t moved much, just enough to perch on the arm of his daughter’s chair. He looks as out of place as Derek feels, but at least Derek has the advantage of this being home ground. He can wait this out and it doesn’t take much more than half an hour before the others start making a move. The plan seems to be for the teens to get something to eat and catch a movie.

“Are you coming?” Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head before the others can react, then watches their collective relief. “You go,” he says. “I’ve got things to do. I’ll see you after?”

“No, I’ll stay.”

Derek is reassured to see that his friends are genuinely trying to persuade Stiles to join them, but he’s adamant to stay at the loft. Eventually he sees them out the door with a promise to do something with them soon. Derek would have preferred it, if Stiles had gone with them, for his sake, but he doesn’t question it when he finds himself with an armful of teenager.

“Why did you bring them here?” he asks after a long kiss.

“Did you mind?”

Derek did, kind of, but he considers the loft as much Stiles’s as it is his right now. “I don’t see the point. None of that discussion had a point.”

“We were all at Scott’s, discussing what to do and I thought you should be involved. And since I knew you wouldn’t come to us, I persuaded them to come to you. Which makes you Mohamed, by the way.”

“I’m honored. But if I wanted to be involved, I would have gone to Scott’s with you. You can’t force these things, Stiles. You can’t make them like me. And you can’t keep throwing us together, hoping eventually we’ll click. We won’t. You should go with them when they ask you.”

“I don’t want to go with them. Not without you. Did you notice the distinct air of couple-dom over the plans? I wanted you to be there. If you can’t, then I’d rather be here with you.”

“I can come with you, if you want me to, but I think it’s a case of careful what you wish for.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t want you to do things you don’t want to do.”

“I know I don’t have to. I don’t mind.” He doesn’t, but he thinks Stiles underestimates how uncomfortable it will make everyone feel.

“Really?” Stiles’s smile is radiant. “Do you know what else I wish for right now?” His forefinger trails down Derek's chest to his stomach and lingers on the belt of his jeans.

Derek grins. “ _That_ I don’t mind either.”

 

 

 

In the evening, Derek tries to persuade Stiles to stay away while the hunters are in town. He has to agree that it’s safer to stay for tonight because the sheriff is on night duty and he doesn’t believe there’ll be an attack on the loft, which has too many safeguards in place. But he thinks he has a pretty good argument pointing out that, unlike werewolves, hunters don’t recognize humans as pack members and won’t hurt Stiles if he’s not with him. Stiles cuts him down with a simple, “Gerard did,” and that’s the end of that discussion. Derek understands more and more why Stilinski is so lenient with his son where Derek’s concerned. It’s simply because he knows full well that Stiles will do what he thinks best anyway.

It’s late on Sunday evening when there’s a knock on the door. It makes a pleasant change from everybody always letting themselves in and Stiles’s face of fake astonishment is hilarious. Derek smiles. “It’s for you.”

Frowning now, Stiles answers the door, while Derek hurriedly pulls the sheets on the bed straight for form’s sake before moving to greet their visitor.

“Dad. What are you doing here? I thought you won’t be finished for another two hours… Wait a minute, why are you picking me up anyway?” He’s right. His father’s never been to the loft before.

“I’m not, son. Is Derek here?”

“Well, since he lives here, yes. Come in.”

Despite the invitation, the sheriff lingers in the doorway, until he spots Derek when his son moves out of his line of sight. He’s still in his uniform and his face is grim.

Derek sighs inwardly. What now? “Come in, sir.” He’s found that being ultra-polite with authority figures goes a long way.

Stiles turns to grin at him at his use of ‘sir’ but loses his good spirit very quickly. “What’s going on, Dad?”

“I need to speak to Derek. Can you wait outside?”

“ _What_? No way!”

“This is official police business.”

“Yeah, like I’ve never caught any glimpses of that before. You can’t just throw me out. Derek will tell me anyway, won’t you, Derek?”

Stilinski looks at Derek for support, but things have changed drastically since the last time they were in a similar situation. Derek shrugs. “He has a point.”

The sheriff sighs. “Your call.” He comes over and hands him two photographs. “Do you know these guys?”

Although the photos seem a few years old, Derek recognizes the hunters immediately. They’ve obviously got themselves into trouble with the police before because these are mug shots. No wonder they withdrew when Stiles mentioned his father. “I’ve met them.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“These are the hunters I was telling you about, Dad.” Stiles has been looking over Derek's shoulder at the photographs. “I knew they were trouble. Well, they would be, being hunters and all.”

“Stiles.” Stilinski sounds exasperated.

Derek elbows Stiles a little to silence him and Stiles immediately bends over, holding his stomach and groaning exaggeratedly. The other two ignore his antics. “They came out to the house yesterday. Not sure what they wanted. They threw their weight around, then let us leave with a few threats. Mild, by hunters’ standards. Chris Argent seems to know them. Said they were friends of his father’s.”

“Really? Interesting. So did anything get physical between you guys?”

“No. Just threats. Why?”

“They were found dead in the woods this morning. And it looks like an animal attack. At least officially so. But it’s obvious to me that a werewolf was involved. And their heads were smashed in.”

“I see.” Derek's mind is racing. On the one hand, their immediate problem seems to have been eliminated, but they’re left with another one. He can’t imagine that Scott or Isaac would do something like that unless they were forced to somehow, which doesn’t seem likely. And in that case they would have gone straight to the sheriff afterwards. So that leaves only Peter. And unless the hunters confronted him, he had no motive, if he even knew that they were in town. And if it wasn’t Peter, then the problem has just grown to much larger proportions, because that means another pack or at least another werewolf, one who is powerful enough to take out two very experienced hunters.

Stilinski clears his throat. “I’m sorry but I have to ask you this: where were you last night?”

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**2.**

 

“He was with me,” Stiles says heatedly. “Do you want details? Because I could give you plenty of those.”

Derek turns to give him a warning look – there’s no reason to let this escalate – but Stiles has that betrayed look again that always guts Derek. So he tries a reassuring smile.

“What?” Stiles asks him, more hurt than angry now. “He’s practically accusing you of killing those guys. After all he knows. After knowing that you’re my… my…” He trails off and looks at his father. “Derek was with me all night, from late afternoon yesterday until now.”

“Okay, calm down. I have to ask.”

“No, you really don’t. The only reason you’re suspecting him is because of what you know. What **_I_** told you. And you’re using that against him.”

“Stiles,” Derek says mildly. “Your dad’s just doing his job.”

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d do it somewhere else. He already arrested you twice and he was wrong both times.”

“Are you referring to the time _you_ persuaded your dad to arrest me?” Derek can’t suppress a smirk. “Or the time you and Scott told him I was a mass murderer?”

“Hey, we thought you were dead. That was totally a misunderstanding. And it’s not nice to remind people of the follies of their youth.”

Derek thinks that as far as youthful mistakes go, Stiles really doesn’t have much to worry about. He smiles indulgently, then turns to Stilinski. “I don’t know who did this. I can give you my uncle’s address, but he won’t be half as accommodating as I am. I doubt very much that it was him. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. I’m not sure if he’s physically strong enough to take out two armed hunters either.”

“Still, it would be good to talk to him.”

Derek walks over to the table to write down Peter’s address. Handing it to Stilinski, he says, “I’ll drop Stiles off later on. If you could let me know when you’re home.”

The sheriff nods. “I’ll call Stiles when I’m on my way.”

“Thanks.”

“Really?” Stiles says sarcastically. “Now I’m the toddler that gets handed from adult to adult because he can’t be trusted on his own?”

Derek waits a few beats but when Stilinski doesn’t react other than to give his son an exasperated look, he says in what he hopes is a reasonable voice, “There’s something out there, killing people and it’s werewolf related. It’s prudent to be careful.”

“Yeah, I don’t see either of you being chaperoned,” Stiles grumbles as he follows his father and Derek to the door. “Hey, Dad, are you gonna ask Scott and Isaac where they were, too?”

“Uhm, I wasn’t planning on it. Do you think they know anything?”

“Not exactly the point I was making.”

The sheriff frowns, then looks at Derek apologetically when the meaning sinks in. Derek just waves it off. He knows he’ll always be more suspect to the sheriff, who has practically seen Scott grow up. He doesn’t take it personally, but it’s kind of worrisome that Stiles does. The last thing he wants to do is come between Stiles and his father. Luckily, he doesn’t think that’s a real possibility. Their bond is too strong.

 

 

 

Derek can’t find any trace of another werewolf anywhere in town or the woods. It’s highly unlikely that the killings were random and they were definitely not animal attacks. Despite of what the papers always say, those don’t actually happen in Beacon Hills. It’s possible that it was more related to the victims than to the location. Hunters live the kind of life that makes them enemies even among themselves. He keeps a closer eye on Stiles, just in case, and if the brat thinks it strange to find Derek leaning against his jeep after school every day, he’s certainly not complaining.

On Friday night they go bowling. Scott and Kira are there, as are Allison and Isaac and they're all being very civil for Stiles’s sake. Derek relaxes after the first round or so when everyone seems to have found their footing. He’s always excelled at anything physical. There’s some good-natured ribbing that’s includes digs at Derek occasionally, so Stiles may have been right after all. He’s smiling brightly and being very affectionate, which his friends overlook for the most part. Even Scott doesn’t say anything although he appears to be a little on edge.

Unsurprisingly, Allison is very competitive and starts a contest that only Derek can keep up with. In the end, they play a round by themselves, while the others watch. Allison gets a lot of very vocal encouragement, but Derek gets a kiss after every strike, so he thinks he’s getting the better deal. When he finally claims victory, Stiles is ecstatic. Allison glares at him but offers curt congratulations. Despite the outcome, she seems to have enjoyed the game and doesn’t even glower when Isaac briefly pats Derek on the back before he commiserates her. They all decide to go for something to eat that Derek, as the evening’s winner, should pay for. He doesn’t mind, since he has money to spare, especially by the teenagers’ standards.

As they pile out of the bowling alley, Derek feels a prickle under his skin. Scott and Isaac don’t seem to notice anything, hurrying towards their cars with the girls, but he stops and looks around. The parking lot isn’t very well lit, so he can only make out a silhouette standing by his car. Werewolf, though not wolfed out. Instinctively he steps in front of Stiles covering him with his body as the shape moves towards them.

“Scott,” Stiles calls out, making Scott and Isaac look up and return hastily.

The strange werewolf approaches with the fluid movements of their kind until the light from the neon sign above the bowling alley door illuminates the shadowy figure, revealing a slight girl of around the same age as the teenagers around Derek. She’s smiling but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Hey, Derek. Remember me?”

He recognizes her scent, an almost buried memory from long ago of a girl who came to his family home with her parents. “Valeska?”

Her smile deepens and then she moves forward to throw her arms around him. He stands stiffly in her embrace, remembering how she used to follow him around, when she was a child and he had felt oh so grown up as a teenager. Then, she’d been simply annoying, now it’s uncomfortable. Since the fire, he’s grown very particular about touching. Eventually he pats her half-heartedly on the back until she lets go and stands back a little.

The others are forming a wide, loose circle around them now, watching either warily or with interest. Stiles is the only one nudging closer until Derek can feel him at his elbow. Pulling him to his side, he bridges the awkwardness with, “Stiles, this is Valeska. She’s Warren Curnock’s daughter. You remember Warren from the parley?” And how convenient it is that events have absolved him from being a liar since then? The affiliation he claimed then has become true.

Stiles nods and introduces himself with the usual platitudes, managing to make them sound sincere, which they probably are, knowing him. All he will see is a girl his own age, pretty and smiling. Derek worries sometimes about how little self-preservation there is in the brat despite all the things he’s seen over the last two years. Derek doesn’t necessarily mistrust Valeska, but that doesn’t mean he trusts her either.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you actually. I happened to drive past and saw your car, so I thought I’d wait for you. Since I don’t know the town, I didn’t know if it was safe to come in. I didn’t want to step on anyone’s territory.”

It sounds a little strange to him that she just ‘happened’ to drive past, not to mention that she would recognize his car. But the Camaro used to be Laura’s so it’s possible and he won’t question it for now. The Curnocks and the Hales have been on friendly terms for all of his life, which entitles her to the benefit of the doubt at least.

“How long are you in town for?”

“Just passing through, really. I arrived today and will be going home tomorrow. My father asked me to visit you and give you a message. He’s inviting you to Melinda’s mating. It’s at the next moon.”

Derek remembers numerous rituals and celebrations he attended with his family. Looking back, it seems like there was one every other weekend although logic tells him it must be a distorted memory because there couldn’t possibly have been that many, given the isolationist nature of most werewolf packs. For a long time, he missed all the bustle that came with being part of the large Hale family. Nowadays he’s neither interested nor does he feel obligated to attend. However, he doesn’t have a pack as such and it might be good policy to retain some allegiances, just in case.

“He’s also inviting the true alpha.” Valeska looks around, her gaze gliding over the other two werewolves without much curiosity or interest.

Amused, Derek nods towards Scott to point her in the right direction. Her smile returns after barely a second’s hesitation. “You are very welcome to attend, Alpha McCall. And so is your beta.” She gives Isaac a smile that would make Allison growl, if she were a werewolf. As it is, she sticks to glowering.

“Thank you.” Scott looks intrigued. “What about my girlfriend?”

“Only werewolves allowed,” she says a little too sharply. The Curnocks were always more traditional than the Hales.

“I won’t be attending without my mate,” Derek says clearly. He’s somewhat glad to have an excuse not to go. It will even serve as justification to himself, when deep down he knows he’s simply not terribly keen to begin with. He just doesn’t want to snub Warren without a valid reason.

“Oh, _your_ mate is very welcome. Emissary Stilinski, right?” She gives Stiles a nod.

“Yeah. That’s me,” Stiles says mockingly. Since the parley, nobody’s said anything about him being an emissary. Derek isn’t even sure if Scott wants an emissary or if he thinks he doesn’t need one.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Derek says. “But please convey my thanks to your parents. It’s an honor.”

“Sure.” Valeska is back to carefree ease now. “You can bring Cora, if you like. That would be awesome. I haven’t seen her in ages.” She pauses and tilts her head, looking at him from under her lashes in a faux-shy gesture. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor. My father said he’d feel better if I didn’t stay on my own in a strange town. Could I impose on you to put me up for the night? I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning.”

He really doesn’t want to. Sharing his space with a stranger who’s also a werewolf is a delicate matter that needs to be carefully negotiated. However, due to their shared past Valeska isn’t a stranger per se and common courtesy demands a certain degree of hospitality. It’s his general mistrust that makes this so difficult for him, but she’s a young girl in an unfamiliar territory and he’d hope someone would do the same for Cora in a similar situation.

“Sure,” he says, hoping his hesitation was brief enough to go unnoticed. “You can stay in Cora’s room. Just follow my car.” He finds himself in a hug again, wondering if he should put a stop to it right here and now but decides to let it slide in the end. It’s only until tomorrow morning. How many times can she find a reason to hug him until then anyway?

“Thank you.”

She hovers close to him while Derek tells the others he won’t be joining them for their meal after all. His natural instinct is not to let a strange werewolf get too close to the group. It might create a familiarity they may come to regret later. She waits until the others have said their good-byes, then walks next to him towards his car. Stiles is on his other side and Derek can feel that he isn’t happy with the situation. He steadfastly refused to go with his friends – again.

As soon as they’re pulling out of the parking lot, Stiles can no longer contain himself. “So, how well do you know her?”

“She used to come to our house as a kid. She’s the same age as Cora, so she was her friend really. I barely know her, apart from the usual annoying little-sister-and-her-friend stuff.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that. And have you thought about the fact that we’re looking for a strange werewolf who killed two hunters last week and – oh look – one has just miraculously fallen into our laps? Or should I say: fallen round your neck?”

It takes him a moment to get to the meaning of that sentence – not an uncommon occurrence when talking to Stiles – then he can’t help but smirk at him. “Are you _jealous_?”

“What? No. Of course, not. Why would I be jealous of a pretty girl who’s into hugging my bisexual… my…”

Instantly, Derek's amusement evaporates. “This is the second time you’re having trouble with that. What exactly _is_ the problem? You don’t know what to call us? Or you don’t know what we _are_?” He can’t stop the venom leaking into his voice although he keeps telling himself that he shouldn’t expect too much, that it will end and he will have to let Stiles go eventually.

“Actually… I _don’t_ know what we are,” Stiles says in a small voice. “ _Or_ what to call us.”

Derek is ill-equipped for the pain that assails him, despite having tried to prepare himself from the start. “Do you want me to take you home?” he grits out.

“Do you want me to go home?”

“It’s up to you.” In his mind he’s willing Stiles to make the right choice, but he won’t ask. He can’t. Stiles is seventeen, he needs to be the one to make all the decisions about them because if it was up to Derek, they would be planning forever already. He turns left into the main avenue when he should be going right, just to make a detour. It saves him from having to be the one who determines the outcome of this evening by turning towards the loft or the Stilinski house at the next turn after that.

Stiles looks out the window at the direction they’re going and frowns. Then he looks back at Derek with an uncertain smile. “Is this one of those conversations where both parties want the same thing but are too chickenshit to say it?”

Derek tries not to growl. “Will you stop playing games and just say it?”

“Why do **_I_** have to say it?”

“Stiles!”

“Alright, alright. I want to stay at the loft with you like we planned. And I want you to tell me what I can call you without freaking you out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Okay, you’re not freaking out. But I am. I’m utterly freaked, I admit it. There’s a girl in the car behind us who’s practically invited herself into your bed and you’re suggesting to drop me off home. Don’t tell me I have no right to freak out. That’s major freaking-out rights in my book. And then you pick a stupid fight with me over labels. It’s easy for you. You just say I’m your mate and everybody draws their own conclusions. It’s not so easy for me. If I said to someone at school that I have a mate, they’ll think I’m crazy. Well, more crazy than usual anyway. Or British. So I’m stuck because everything else is so loaded. What can I call you?”

“What would you like to call me?”

“Boyfriend? Lover?”

“ _Really_? And you think people at school won’t think you’re crazy if you tell them you have a _lover_?” Derek likes the term ‘mate’. It conveys everything it should – family, commitment, protection, respect, love – and yet so much more. It’s an unbreakable bond that human relationships can’t ever emulate. When he claimed Stiles at the parley, he had no respect for the concept because he thought it didn’t exist in reality, that it was just a fairy tale. Now he knows better.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Boyfriend then. But that sounds so juvenile. For you anyway. I’m still a juvenile, so I should be alright.”

“Stiles, you can call me whatever you think appropriate in any given situation. I won’t freak out and I won’t contradict you if I’m around.”

“Oh… okay then. So you can take me home now… home to the loft _,_ I mean. But whilst we’re here, do you wanna go through the drive-thru at BK? I’m starving. And that would give us an excuse for going the long way round, too. Wouldn’t want Valeska to think that we just wanted to have a little chat by ourselves, would we now?”

“Why not? It’s the truth.” Derek pulls into the line for the drive-thru and hopes he won’t grin too inanely at the employee taking the order. But Stiles called the loft _home_ , so he probably will.

 

 

 

It always seems funny to him that the term ‘wolfing down your food’ is so much more appropriate for Stiles than it is for any werewolf he’s ever known. The brat polishes off two burgers and curly fries in record time and has a soda _and_ a milkshake to wash it all down. Valeska watches him with some bemusement, while picking at her own food.

They’re getting comfortable in the loft, with Derek and Stiles on the couch and Valeska in one of the armchairs. Stiles has even rigged up his mp3 player to some portable speakers he brought over a few weeks back and it feels very much like a home. The two teenagers are discussing music and bands that Derek hasn’t much of an opinion on. Music doesn’t mean much to him. He prefers the quiet.

Valeska is asking a lot of questions that Stiles answers in his own inimitable style. It’s amazing how he manages to talk at such lengths without saying very much at all. It took Derek a long time to work out that his babbling and over-sharing on certain minor points is simply a means of misdirecting from the significant ones. He’s amused to see Valeska falling prey to his tactics without really noticing it, like most people.

Then Stiles turns the table and starts posing his own questions. They find out that Valeska is doing a gap year after high school and hoping to go to college afterwards to become a lawyer. She’s been on the road for a week, delivering invitations to her sister’s mating in person, as is the traditional way. The Curnocks are expecting a huge turnout and the more Derek hears about it, the more he thinks it would be a good idea to attend. It’s always beneficial to keep connected to the rest of the community, even if it’s only on a superficial level. He might even find some clues about who killed the hunters.

He tells her a little about Cora, but he doesn’t like to go into detail about his family on principle and it’s late anyway, so they agree that it’s time to call it a night. Derek shows her upstairs to Cora’s room, where he helps her change the bed linen.

“Sorry. We weren’t expecting guests.” He bunches up the sheets and walks towards the door.

“No problem. Are you sure Cora won’t mind?”

“Probably not, since it’s you. You used to share a bed, if I remember rightly.”

“Yeah, I love sharing beds.” It comes out slightly breathy, but she’s not looking at him, busying herself with straightening the blankets, so he doesn’t know if he’s imagining it.

“Ah well, if you need anything, Stiles and I will be downstairs.”

“Okay. I’m really very grateful for this. Thank you.” She steps closer and plants a kiss on his cheek, lingering just a moment too long to make it completely innocent.

Derek’s glad that Stiles isn't a werewolf and won’t smell her on him. Stepping back, he clears his throat a little. “Like I said, Stiles and I will be downstairs.”

“Okay. Good night.” She smiles at him, then turns towards her bag.

As he deposits the linen in the laundry basket in the bathroom, he can’t decide what just happened. Was she flirting with him, inviting herself to his bed, as Stiles suggested? Or simply being affectionate with a long-lost childhood friend? Luckily it doesn’t matter. Derek hasn’t had the slightest interest in anyone else since he and Stiles got together. He can acknowledge that she’s pretty and even somewhat charming in a girly kind of way, but it doesn’t mean much to him beyond pleasant company.

Stiles is already in bed by the time he’s finished his nightly routine of making sure the loft is secure. Derek slides under the sheets and into Stiles’s arms, noticing with interest that he’s naked. They usually don’t bother with wearing anything to bed that will only come off again within minutes anyway, but tonight he’s opted to keep his boxers on. Stiles twangs the waistband and chortles.

“What’s this?”

“I’m envisaging having to show our guest where she can get a glass of water in the middle of the night and I thought she wouldn’t appreciate me being naked.”

“I’m pretty sure she would _very much_ appreciate that. She’s was flirting with you, big time. Humungous time, really. It was so big you could drive a truck through it.”

“I think I get the picture. I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re an idiot. It was pretty obvious. I was worried I’d have to rescue you from her clutches when you went to show her Cora’s room.” There’s a barely perceptible pause. “Especially when it took you so long.”

“I was changing the sheets. Cora was only here for a weekend. It didn’t seem worth it to change the sheets after that.”

Stiles nuzzles the hollow at the base of Derek's throat with his nose, then dips his tongue into it before kissing his way up to suck on his Adam’s apple. Derek inhales a sharp breath. He didn’t think they’d be doing anything tonight. For all the enthusiasm Stiles has for sex, coupled with his almost complete lack of inhibition, he’s not an exhibitionist. Maybe he should point out the obvious here, but if he’s honest, he doesn’t really want it to stop.

“So are we crossing her off our list of suspects?” he asks instead.

“For the murders, yes. For wanting to get into your pants? Not so much. And can we please not talk about other people when we’re about to fuck?”

“Are we?”

“Are we not?” Stiles murmurs, now moving his hands all over his body in a caress that’s taking in all the places Derek likes to be touched with the exception of the obvious one. Then he abruptly withdraws to lean on his elbow and look at Derek. “So how does this work? You live in packs where every member has super-hearing. How do you guys have sex without everyone in the building knowing about it?”

“We learn very early on to have selective hearing. Even just in everyday life we would all go crazy if we couldn’t switch it off. We’d be bombarded with noise all the time. So if you don’t want to listen to other people having sex, you just don’t listen.”

“But that’s no guarantee that nobody _will_ listen whilst you’re doing it. If they feel so inclined.”

“No. But it’s an etiquette thing. Or rather a taboo. Although, in general, werewolves aren’t as concerned about an audience as humans are. We have different ideas about privacy when it’s within the pack.”

“Oooh, werewolves are kinky. That’s a new one.” Stiles flops on his back, speaking to the ceiling. “Well, Valeska, if you’re listening, I suggest you tune out for a bit. And, since I only stay over at the weekends, you might consider making ‘a bit’ last for quite a while.”

Derek chortles. There’s really never a dull moment with Stiles, but it remains to be seen if he’ll actually go through with it. Raising himself up, he looms over him which earns him a soft smile. What was meant to be a playful dare turns into a languid kiss that just changes intensity but doesn’t really stop until they’re fucking in their familiar energetic style.

During the week they have sex almost every day, whenever they can get together, but between school and homework, trying to maintain the normal social life of a teenager and the curfew, it’s often a little rushed. At the weekend they usually make up for it, with long unhurried sessions that lend themselves to trying out new things or enjoying the preferences they’ve already discovered. Both of them hate to miss out on those and if Stiles is still giving any thought to the possibility of being overheard at all, it certainly doesn’t show.

When Stiles finally drops off, spooning Derek from behind and falling asleep practically in the middle of biting his shoulder, Derek wonders if Valeska even needed her enhanced hearing to listen in. Stiles isn’t exactly quiet and Derek will definitely have to open the windows tomorrow morning before she gets up. The smell of sex is overpowering. Then he puts his hand on the hand that Stiles has placed over his heart, interlaces their fingers and decides that he doesn’t care in the slightest. “Brat,” he murmurs fondly before drifting into sleep.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**3.**

 

Derek has a somewhat nostalgic feeling when he gets out of his car outside _Blackwood House_. He remembers the Curnock family home from his childhood, when the name had been an enduring puzzle to him. It’s a huge building in the middle of Blackwood Forrest and every couple of years the Curnocks would paint the wooden exterior of their home a different color, but it was never black. Derek didn’t actually work out that the name referred to the location and not the appearance until he entered his teens. This year, the color is sage.

Warren comes out of the house to greet them, closely followed by his wife, Virginia. She was his mother’s best friend and it isn’t easy for him to see her again. He’s starting to understand why Laura decided to take the two of them away from Beacon Hills after the fire. This little trip down memory lane is anything but pleasant and it’s only just begun. He hopes it’ll get easier as time goes by.

Then Stiles has caught up to him, standing close, their upper arms just touching, and chatting away to Warren as if they’re old friends. As he introduces him to Virginia, Derek puts his arm around his shoulders, which he doesn’t often do in public in Beacon Hills for the sake of making his father’s life less complicated. Stiles beams first at him, then at her, but Derek doesn’t like the way she looks back at him. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something in her eyes that he doesn’t like.

When Scott is introduced, he immediately becomes the center of her attention. A little taken aback, he keeps looking over his shoulder at Stiles for support as he’s being pulled into the house with promises of good food and better company. Stiles just grins as if he finds his friend’s predicament amusing but follows him soon enough. Warren smiles after them, then gestures invitingly towards the door, asking how the journey was.

It’s Thursday evening and the house is full of guests. The ceremony is set for moonrise tomorrow, so it stands to reason that most of them are already here. It’s like one giant party spread over the many rooms of the house. Everything seems very informal. He loses sight of Stiles and Scott almost immediately, both of them getting claimed by Valeska and her sister Hannah, who’s three years her junior.

Warren leads Derek into the library where there’s a gathering of male werewolves, drinking and smoking. Derek’s never understood the point of emulating humans this way. What’s the point if you can’t feel the effects of the alcohol and aren’t addicted to nicotine? He really doesn’t like the taste or smell of either. But these guys are all around Warren’s age, so it’s possible they have high-powered jobs where this is such a part of the routine to blend in that it’s become habit. He settles for water and eases himself into the group carefully.

For a while he just listens with some degree of interest and amusement to what are mostly anecdotal accounts of various kinds. Then one of the other men complains about a hunter getting killed in his territory with not a trace to be found of the werewolf responsible. Derek perks up when there’s mention that, on top of the tell-tale slashes, the head was caved in.

“Why don’t people get a clue how much trouble these things cause?” the man complains to the general audience. Derek’s gathered that his name’s Gareth and he comes from somewhere up north, judging by his accent. “The police are all over the case. We haven’t had to disguise a murder in years and then some idiot comes along and messes up all our hard work.”

“It was a kill-and-run?” Derek asks.

“Yes, no sign of any strange wolves before or after. It’s as if they just materialized to do the killing and then vanished. Not that the guy didn’t have it coming.”

“We had a case like that recently. A couple of hunters were slashed and had their heads smashed with no trace of the culprit.”

“Who do the cops suspect? Can you get away with an animal attack?”

Derek snorts. “Hardly. The sheriff knows all about us. He became kind of involved in an incident recently, so he needed to be told. He’s a good guy. So we don’t have a problem. It’s still worrying though.”

There’s a scoff from one of the other werewolves. This one’s called Hank and he doesn’t seem happy. “The sheriff a good guy? You shouldn’t have let him live after he found out.”

Hackles instantly raised, Derek tries to remain calm nonetheless. He’s a guest after all. “I’m not in the habit of killing people who pose no threat. He happens to be my mate’s father, so he has a vested interest to keep quiet about things.”

“Or he’ll use it as an excuse to get rid of the guy who’s boning his daughter.”

“ _Son_ , actually.”

“This is not the time or the place, Hank,” Warren intercedes mildly and the other man indicates his acquiescence with a slight bow. “So do we think these two incidents are connected?”

“A werewolf vigilante?”

“It wouldn’t be the first one,” Warren shrugs.

“Let’s hope not,” one of the older guys says. “I remember the last one.” When Derek raises his eyebrows questioningly, he continues, “You would have been too young. It was about twenty years ago. His name was Perry Rhodes. He killed about twenty hunters before the police caught him. Then he took out half the police station. It’s lucky he got killed after that. Wolves like that will be our downfall.”

“Still, there’s nothing wrong with killing hunters,” Hank throws in, to a general murmured assent.

Derek’s glad that Scott isn’t here and hopes the subject won’t come up again over the weekend. He was hoping to show the teen that werewolves aren’t all about fighting and killing. If Scott doesn’t lose his distaste for all things werewolf soon, he won’t be able to survive. He needs to embrace it and make allies. All it takes is for Stilinski to be replaced by another sheriff and Beacon Hills will be a hell of a lot tougher to live in. “Except if you kill and run, you leave the people who live there to pick up the pieces and come under suspicion. As a strategy to help werewolves survive, it’s pretty poor.”

“Good point,” Gareth says. “In this day and age, nothing’s as important as remaining secret. It’s probably the single most important factor in our survival.”

There follows an animated debate about the best way to keep the werewolf community alive. It takes in every possible argument from extreme violence to a complete denial of their nature. Derek can neither imagine going around killing hunters, hoping they’ll be defeated by attrition, nor can he imagine to never let his wolf run free. As discussions go, it’s lively and interesting but he can’t shake the feeling of sadness and inevitability that permeates a lot of the contributions.

A couple of hours later, he goes in search of Stiles and Scott, finding them outside in the large dog kennel. The Curnocks have an outstanding reputation as breeders of Siberian Huskies. There’s a litter of puppies that looks no more than a few days old and both teens are playing with them. They’re surrounded by some kids, who are vying with them for the attention of the dogs. Derek tries very hard not to find Stiles nose-bumping a puppy adorable.

As if he senses that he’s being watched, Stiles looks up and holds out the small furry bundle to show him. Derek half-expects him to ask if they can take one home. Then his eyes fall on Warren, who's come out with him. Warren looks disapproving, but it seems to have little to do with them being in the kennel and more with Stiles himself. After a while, he looks from Stiles to Derek and then lowers his eyes as if in embarrassment. Derek can’t work out what the problem is until he realizes how very young both Scott and Stiles look while they’re so engrossed.

Stiles’s age is of concern to Derek only in the vaguest sense. He doesn’t think he’s too young to have a relationship, even if the law says otherwise for another few months. Teenagers have sex all the time and if Stiles’s relationship was with Scott, for example, nobody would ever think twice about it. Derek’s only a few years older than Stiles, so it’s not as if he could be considered a dirty old man. He doesn’t perv on his age, he’s with him _despite_ his age.

His main worry is that Stiles will have regrets afterwards. Derek has regrets about every single relationship he’s had before this one. He also knows what it feels like to be with someone older at an early age, how easy it is to get carried away or defer to that person in all things, especially when teenage hormones come into play. One day, when Stiles looks back on this time in his life, Derek would like it to be with fondness, not with the feeling of having made a huge mistake.

But he’s not ashamed of what he’s doing. Stiles is far more mature than people give him credit for from the image he projects. This is not an unequal relationship, not in the obvious sense, because Derek knows that Stiles is the one with all the power. If there’s anything to be ashamed of, it’s his pathetic dread of losing the guy and how much he loves him after the short time they’ve been together. This may well be it for him and that’s the only other aspect where Stiles’s youth comes into consideration, because how likely is it, that he feels the same, at his age?

Ignoring Warren’s disapproval, he steps a little closer to the kennel. “You’re not getting a dog.”

“Awww, why not?” Stiles faux-whines with a pretend pout thrown in for good measure.

“Because your dad would never allow it and then I’d get stuck with it at the loft. You’ll be at college next year and then what?”

Stiles frowns a little, then gets up and dusts himself off before he comes out of the cage. Sensing a drastic change in his mood, Derek doesn’t know what he said to bring it about but has little hope of finding out. Stiles often changes tack in the middle of a conversation, leaving Derek at a loss of what just happened. Surely he didn’t really expect to get a pet on the spur of the moment?

“I’m starving.” And just like that, Stiles has shaken off whatever was bothering him less than a minute ago.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” Warren says. “We’re having a buffet today, but there’ll be a proper meal tomorrow.”

“Awesome. Scott, _food_.”

Scott joins them immediately and they make their way back into the house. After they’ve helped themselves to some of the plentiful food, Derek fills them in on what he heard about the other killing earlier on and there’s a marked difference in behavior when they suddenly become alert and focused on the problem. They’re all glad that they left Isaac at home for protection. However, they don’t get a chance to talk much because Hannah turns up soon after to drag the two teens away to show them something she doesn’t elaborate on and Derek finds himself in conversation with Virginia. It feels strange that nowadays he’s considered an equal conversation partner when all his memories of these people are from a child’s perspective.

“We’ll have three of them mated after tomorrow,” Virginia says proudly. “It’s a great relief. It’s getting more and more difficult to find suitable partners.”

The Curnocks have five children, all girls, and even three grandchildren already. Derek tries not to think about the fact that if he ever has children, his parents will never get to see them.

“What do you consider suitable?” he asks because he wouldn’t have thought that arranged marriages are still practiced in this day and age. They used to be the norm because packs interacted very little, so finding a suitable werewolf mate with next to no casual contact allowing people to meet was difficult. Since only two werewolves together can produce werewolf children, most packs later resorted to turning the partners they had chosen. Naturally, that came with its own pitfalls. Very few packs were like the Hales, who accepted humans into their midst.

“Well, Karen was the hardest because we needed someone willing to live with us and accept her as the new alpha when Warren’s no longer with us. But Terrence fits in really well and they have two adorable boys already. Judith is mated to an alpha down south and Melinda’s mate is set to become the alpha when his uncle dies. We’ve been blessed.”

“All friends of the family?”

“Friends of friends mainly.”

He nods. So the Curnocks really are going down the traditional route of choosing their children’s mates for them. And they seem quite ambitious, too, with the focus on finding alphas. It shouldn’t be too difficult for them as the family has such a high standing in the community that even the younger ones are considered a great catch. He can’t imagine his parents trying to impose anything like that on their kids nor any of the Hale children submitting to it. Laura’s boyfriends were all distinctly ordinary and knew nothing about werewolves as far as he’s aware.

“Have you thought about having a family?” she asks him in a motherly tone that pains him in some indistinct way.

“Not really. With Stiles as my mate that would be difficult.”

“Yes, I can imagine. You made an odd choice there. When are you going to make him pack?”

 _Never!_ “He’s still young. There’s time. And he needs to want it.”

“You mean, he doesn’t?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t asked him. We haven’t been together that long.”

“Well, he’s certainly not shy around other werewolves.”

Derek chuckles. “No, shy isn’t a word I’d use to describe Stiles under any circumstances.”

Warren has joined them with a plateful of food. “But if you don’t have kids, your family will die out. Have you thought of that?”

“Well, there’s Cora still. And… Peter.”

“That’s hardly the same, Derek. You’re the alpha. You should be mated to another werewolf and carry on the line.”

“It’s too late now,” Derek says carefully. “I’ve made the commitment and I don’t regret it.”

“You have to consider…” Warren starts but is interrupted by his wife.

“What’s done is done. Derek's not going to hold up our decline all by himself nor is his decision going to speed it up significantly.”

Warren shrugs. “Just seems such a waste to me. You don’t even need to be officially mated to the mother of your children if you’re so fond of your mate.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t wish that on any of my daughters,” Virginia says snidely.

“Nor I,” Derek agrees. He’s starting to feel very uncomfortable as if he’s landed in the middle of a longstanding argument that has nothing to do with him. And it seems that Warren’s disapproving stare at Stiles earlier had less to do with his youth and more with his position as Derek's mate. He wonders for a moment what made him jump to the conclusion that it was about age.

As soon as he can make his excuses, he wanders off to find Stiles and Scott, but neither one of them is anywhere to be seen. He could always scent them out, especially Stiles, but he’s neither worried nor is he the clingy type. He ends up back in the library where the gathering has changed into a more mixed assembly, with several women amongst them now. There’s a spirited debate on pretty much the same subject he’s been hearing all day, the decline of the werewolf population, but because no one is focusing on him personally, he actually finds himself interested and decides to stay.

It’s obvious that there’s been a steady waning over the last few decades. The hunters are no longer the only threat, in fact, their threat has lessened, as their strict upbringing becomes more and more out of step with the rest of society. Not every one of their children carries on the family tradition any longer. But the same is unfortunately true for werewolves. There are less pure matings and therefore less naturally born wolves. But also the number of turned wolves has lessened as the emphasis has shifted to better preparation and different values. The vast majority of bites nowadays are either accidental or consensual.

The group is joined by their hosts not long after, who take part in the discussion whereas Derek just listens on the sidelines – until Virginia puts him on the spot by asking for his opinion outright.

“I think the decline is inevitable unless we want to start turning people for the sake of forming a pack again. And from my own experience, I can say that doesn’t really work.”

“But what about matings? Shouldn’t you consider it?”

“I don’t really consider myself a stud for the sake of it. Nor would I inflict that on any female.”

One of the older women chuckles. “Believe me, dear, with your family line and your looks you would have females beating down your door. Just put out a call.”

“I already have a mate.”

“Your mate’s human. And male. He’ll understand.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, thinking about how Stiles would react to the mere suggestion. “No, he really wouldn’t. And I don’t believe there are that many females who’d be happy to comply either. They’d only do it because they’re coerced. I refuse to be a part of that or think of any of them as incubators. Sad as the current state of affairs is, you can’t force a change.”

Virginia kisses his cheek. “The more I get to know you again, the more I wish you didn’t have a mate already. I’d feel completely at ease if you were with any of my daughters. Talia would be so proud if she could see you now.”

Derek really wishes people would stop saying that, especially because they don’t know what happened. He ducks his head and stays silent, but to his utter dismay, the others start reminiscing about his parents. Everyone knew the Hales and while the tales are full of fond memories, they fill him with sadness and guilt in equal measures. Eventually, Virginia takes pity on him and changes the subject.

Later he finds out that he, Stiles and Scott are part of a select group invited to stay at the house, while the other guests retreat to a nearby hotel. The nostalgia that runs like an undercurrent through the whole proceeding apparently includes him as the son of the Curnocks’ oldest friends. He doesn’t think about it much, happy enough that they don’t have to relocate at this late hour.

“Where were you all evening?” he asks Stiles when they’re getting ready for bed in a spacious room on the first floor.

“Hannah is a very serious gamer, so Scott and I played with her and Valeska in her room. Valeska was all over Scott like a rash. The poor dude didn’t know what to do. It was hilarious. He kept mentioning Kira, but she just didn’t care. That girl has serious problems. Either her parents have kept her locked up all her life and she’s trying to make up for it on the few occasions they let her out or she’s just desperate to get laid. I mean, first you and then Scott, she must be _really_ desperate.”

“Brat,” Derek says at the same time as something hits the wall in Scott’s room next door.

Stiles chortles. “Hey, Scott,” he says slightly louder than his normal voice. “I suggest you listen to some music for a while until Derek and I are ready to sleep. And I have to tell you I don’t feel the least bit tired.”

Another item is thrown against the wall, just as Derek tackles Stiles to the bed, making him yelp a little. “Are you sure about this? Lots of other wolves in the house, too.”

Stiles runs a hand through Derek's hair. “I’m sure.”

“What’s Hannah like then? Same as her sister?” He has only vague memories of a very small child with short blonde hair.

“Nah, Hannah’s cool. Bit of a tomboy. I like her. And what did I tell you about talking about other people when we’re just about to fuck?”

Derek chuckles when he can hear Scott groan next door, before muttering something about _brain bleach._ Then his ipod comes on at a high volume. Situations like these always make it unfathomable why he continues to refuse Derek's standing offer to train him in certain aspect of being a werewolf.

Dismissing Scott from his mind, Derek bends down and kisses Stiles languidly. He's missed him even though they’ve been in the same house all evening. But he expected to spend time with him, not be separated for most of the visit. Sometimes he thinks this need to be around him is going to be the death of him. This can’t be normal. He’s never been this desperate before.

“Derek?”

“Hhm?”

“Do you want kids?”

“Huh? What brought this on?”

Stiles chortles again. “Smooth. Really subtle way to avoid the subject, big guy.”

“Well, it _is_ a strange subject. It was the puppies, right? They made you broody and now you want my babies. You do realize werewolves don’t actually have wolf cubs, don’t you? They come out as ordinary babies.”

That earns him a jab in the ribs. “I’m _not_ broody. And just for that we'll have a go at impregnating _you_ tonight. But just out of interest, when do the babies turn into werewolves?”

“The wolf doesn’t manifest itself until they're toddlers at least, but it varies a lot,” Derek mutters, while kissing down Stiles’s neck and starting on his chest. “Believe me, most parents watch their kids anxiously and don’t usually give up hope until they reach puberty.” He pays special attention to the small scar where Stiles had his spleen removed, laving it with his tongue, before he concentrates on his navel. He wants Stiles to know that he loves all his little imperfections.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you didn’t answer my question. What did I tell you about talking and, you know, actually _responding_ to your partner?”

Derek really doesn’t think his answer matters one way or the other. Neither one of them can get pregnant and by the time this will become relevant in their lives, Stiles will have moved on. He traces the moles on his stomach with his tongue, making Stiles shiver. “Do _you_ want kids?”

“Hell, yes. About a dozen. I don’t want an only child. It’s horrible.” Stiles wriggles and moans a little when Derek blows gentle breaths over the wet traces he left on his skin. “And will you answer the damn que…” His words trail off and his breathing becomes slightly more erratic with each small bite Derek leaves on his hip bone. “God… don’t think turning me to jell-o will get you out of getting fucked tonight. We’re going to have a go at getting you pregnant.”

Derek shivers at the thought because even just the idea of having Stiles inside him is incredibly arousing. He wouldn’t want to do it all the time, but it’s a surprising turn-on every time it happens. Naturally, the brat’s well aware of that, because he grins and pulls him up to kiss his mouth again. Then he runs his nails along Derek's spine, before rolling them over to reverse their positions.

“Do you want to have my babies?” he asks, his eyes big and serious enough to almost make him seem sincere.

Derek grins, despite being painfully hard and generally just wanting to get on with it. “Sure. If you can get me pregnant, I’ll have your babies, all twelve of them.” Sometimes he hates how Stiles gets sidetracked and wants to talk at the most inopportune moments because Derek isn’t the most patient guy in the world. But at the same time, he loves this banter they can have just before they stop being able to form coherent thoughts and sentences. It feels healthy and fun and intimate in a way that still surprises him. Laughing during sex isn’t something he’s familiar with.

Stiles chuckles, then turns serious. “I love you, you know. More than I could possibly tell you.” He bends down and kisses Derek before he can answer. He always does that. Derek never gets the chance to answer back and to some extent he’s grateful because _I love you more_ sounds so juvenile – which it really shouldn’t because it’s the absolute truth.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**4.**

 

The next day after breakfast, the three of them pay a courtesy visit to Tabitha, the Curnocks’ emissary. While she seemed quite spritely at the parley, she has since taken ill and is mostly confined to her bed. But in between periods of dozing off, her mind seems surprisingly clear. For a long while, she talks to Scott about being a _true alpha_ – and how that predestines him to fulfill the prophecy.

“What prophecy?” Scott asks, glancing at Derek.

Derek shrugs, indicating that he doesn’t know. Werewolves have a long, mostly oral tradition of folklore and storytelling, but he can’t remember this particular one much. There’s only an indistinct memory about _the_ prophecy that involves a special hero who needs to fulfill certain requirements to qualify. As a tale it’s on par with the boogeyman for variety and vagueness.

“The prophecy about the Chosen One.” Tabitha closes her eyes in exhaustion and appears to fall asleep for a little while. As they hardly know her, the three of them are uncomfortable with the whole visit as it is and at a loss what to do now. It’s like being in her room while she’s asleep is causing them second hand embarrassment. Nobody speaks until she wakens again a minute later. “Where was I?”

“You were talking about the prophecy,” Stiles prompts her eagerly.

“Ah, yes. The Chosen One. You must be prepared, boy.”

“Prepared for what?”

“To defeat the enemy, of course. That’s what you’re chosen for after all. You’ve been blessed, twice actually, once when you became a werewolf and then again when you became the true alpha. Only the twice-blessed wolf can defeat the darkness. But it won’t be easy.” She chuckles a little. “If it was easy, it wouldn’t require a Chosen One.” Then she turns serious again. “If you fail, nobody can overcome it.”

Derek suppresses a derisive snort. Scott's never accepted that the bite is a gift, never mind a blessing. Nor is Derek sure that it’s such a good idea to tell him about predestination. The boy has a tendency to rely on his luck. If there’s really a threat, it would be better if he wasn’t convinced from the start that he can defeat it by virtue of being who he is alone because then he will neither take advice nor make preparations. But Derek doesn’t set much stock by prophecies anyway. After all, the one that predicted that the new millennium would herald the advent of werewolf rule over all the world didn’t exactly come to pass either. Unless the prophet got misinterpreted and she meant the _next_ millennium.

“What enemy?” Stiles asks but there’s no answer.

While Tabitha seems to have gone to sleep again, Scott and Stiles are having one of their wordless conversations. Derek can see how they’re both agitated and worried about the news. Their exchange seems to consist mainly of _what am I supposed to do_ and _we’ll think of something_. It’s always about reassurance and support with these two and it makes both of them calmer in any given situation. Derek tries hard not to be envious.

The old emissary opens her eyes again and looks straight at Derek, who’s leaning against a dresser in the background. “You’re an alpha,” she says, a little surprised but somewhat pleased. In his head Derek counts down the three seconds until she follows it up with the inevitable, “Your mother would be so proud.” He can’t quite put his finger on the reason, but coming from her it doesn’t grate as much as it usually does. “Try not to let them catch you.”

“Let who catch me?”

“All the people who realize you’re worth catching.”

Derek smiles. Yes, he’s been getting the impression that there was an ulterior motive to this invitation, possibly even to sending Valeska to deliver it in person. There have been other people besides Warren and Virginia who’ve been hinting that they wouldn’t mind him as a mate for one of their daughters or nieces or even themselves.

Scott looks a little dubious but it’s Stiles’s expression that catches his eye. He’s looking very pensive before he flashes him a brief smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Tabitha carries on. “Nobody knows what’s best for you like you do.”

Derek isn’t so sure about that. His choices haven’t always been great or even made sense, although he likes to think that he has lost some of his anger and makes them in a more rational light nowadays. Except for Stiles. There’s nothing rational about that choice.

“I need to rest before tonight.” She sighs and already has her eyes shut again.

Not wanting to exhaust her, they all take their leave immediately, but she catches hold of Derek's hand for a moment as he walks past her bed. “Look after the boy. He’s getting a little lost.”

“I will,” he promises although he’s not sure how much Scott will allow him to help. Their relationship has thawed somewhat, with a lot of hard work from Stiles, but it’s still like walking a tightrope.

Which Scott proves as soon as the door shuts behind them. “Are you gonna tell me what that was about or am I just gonna stumble about in the dark again as usual because it suits your purposes somehow?”

“I’ve honestly no idea what she means. I know next to nothing about the Chosen One.”

“Of course, you don’t.” Scott stomps off, closely followed by Stiles, who gives Derek an apologetic look before hurrying after his friend.

Derek wonders sometimes if he will ever earn Scott’s complete trust and why he even cares. Maybe he just wants things not to be awkward between them for Stiles’s sake, who ends up caught in the middle way too often. Unfortunately Scott needs more pampering than a highly-strung Chihuahua and Derek always runs out of patience too quickly.

Smiling at the image, he wanders around the house, dodging any lone female he comes across and eventually finding Warren outside. He gladly helps with setting up the platform for the ceremony tonight as it helps passing the time. Warren chuckles a little when Derek tells him about Tabitha. “The reason you haven’t heard much about this particular ‘prophecy’ is because it’s as old as the world. Most of us think it’s an old wife’s tale. Tabitha just happens to be a little fixated on it. She’s always said that it must be true precisely because it’s so widespread and hazy. I’m glad she found her Chosen One in the end. She’s been looking a long time. McCall should be honored.”

Derek thinks _freaked out_ would be more accurate, nor can he blame him for that. If there are going to be invincible enemies, they’re bound to turn up in Beacon Hills.

 

 

In the early evening, there’s a dinner, which is spread over three rooms due to the large number of guests. Derek is seated near the top of the table with the hosts and Scott, from where he can just see that Stiles is in the adjacent room with Hannah and surrounded by about half a dozen children. He doesn’t seem to mind and is clowning about to make them all laugh. Derek watches him during his conversation and is struck by how he simultaneously looks young enough to sit at the kids’ table and mature enough to be left in charge of all of them even if their lives were in danger. Stiles is nothing if not adaptable. Hannah seems to have a lot to say to him, too. They’ve become close in a very short time, smiling and laughing together. Derek would say they look quite suited to each other and wonders what Warren and Virginia would make of that idea. A human mate would be unacceptable to them, so he shudders to think what would happen if one of their daughters ever developed a crush on anyone outside the community.

“Is Tabitha going to oversee the mating?” he asks Warren to distract himself. Thinking about Stiles in the context of being with other people, however indistinctly, is never a good idea.

“She wouldn’t miss it. Sadly it’s likely to be her last. We were hoping she’d be able to oversee all the girls’ matings but I can’t see her lasting much longer. We need to find a new emissary soon, but it’s hard after all this time. She practically brought me up. Are you two still sharing your emissary?”

He looks between Derek and Scott, who just looks confused as if he’s forgotten what an emissary even is, not to mention that Stiles declared himself to be his and Derek's at the parley.

When Derek nods, hoping Scott will at least keep silent on the matter, Warren suddenly raises his eyebrows as if a thought just occurred to him. “Which begs the question: who oversaw _your_ mating?”

“Uhm, no one. We didn’t have anyone there.” He was really relying on no one asking him outright about this, but he won’t lie either. He has nothing to hide.

Warren looks at him with renewed interest. “So it’s not binding.”

“It’s binding,” Derek says matter-of-factly. “We spoke the words and performed all the rituals.”

“But you had no witnesses.”

“No.”

“Then how can it be binding?”

Derek can feel Scott’s eyes burning into him but ignores him for now. “It’s binding for me because I spoke the words. I’m the only witness I need. And it wouldn’t be binding for Stiles anyway since he’s not a werewolf.”

Warren seems to want to say something else, but his wife shakes her head at him. Derek is incredibly tired of this whole visit. Thankfully, there’s just one more night to get through and then they can go home. He promises himself he will never attend another celebration again in his life. He didn’t realize he’s considered such a catch.

When he looks back at Stiles, Hannah has put her head against his shoulder and is listening to something he’s telling her with a smile. She's completely absorbed by his words, while he’s cutting down on his habitual hand gestures so as not to dislodge her, seeming quite happy to have her in his personal space. They look like a cute little couple of teenagers. And he _didn’t_ just think that! They are _not_ a couple! Stiles is _his!_  He determinedly concentrates on his food so he doesn’t go over there and make a scene – or worse.

After the meal, Scott grabs his arm just as he’s walking out of the room and drags him into the nearest bathroom, which is luckily as spacious as all the rooms in the house are. Derek shakes his hand off and raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t usually conduct the kind of business that requires two guys to be locked in a bathroom.”

“Shut up,” Scott hisses, standing very close but noticeably not touching. He hasn’t tried physical intimidation since Derek returned to alpha status. “What are you doing to Stiles? I know you’re scheming something again. And I know you dumped Stiles in it just now. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. Especially not to Stiles.”

“You did something. You said something to Warren that he found very interesting. I want to know what it was. Because if you betray Stiles, I’ll…”

“Oh, shut up, Scott! Have you not noticed what’s going on here? We’re at a meat market. And you and I are the most desirable pieces on offer.”

“I’m not on offer.”

“Yeah, well, no one here seems to care about that.”

“Is that why you’re selling Stiles out? You practically told Warren that Stiles isn’t really your mate. Are you trying to trade up?”

Derek looks at him, wondering if he should admire him for his loyalty or despise him for his stupidity. In the end he decides on the truth. Walking to the door, he stops for a moment to turn around and say, “There _is_ no up for me, Scott.”

Scott’s frown makes him look utterly confused, but Derek doesn’t want to go into any details about the conversation at the dinner table. If Stiles hasn’t told his best friend what it entails to be truly mated, then he obviously wants that to stay private. So Derek just leaves the bathroom without another word. Everybody’s making their way outside now for the ceremony and he simply follows the general flow.

The moon is rising and there’s a palpable tension in the air. This many werewolves together on a full moon makes for an explosive atmosphere, despite the upbeat occasion. At least the cloudless moon is a good omen for the union. When he reaches the platform, he walks around it until he finds Stiles on the other side. Hannah is practically leaning against him, but Derek just takes his hand and pulls him along and a little out of the way without so much as an ‘excuse me’ to the girl.

“What?” Stiles asks with a half-smile and then lunges forward to kiss Derek when he doesn’t answer straight away.

“Don’t go anywhere again,” Derek says when they’re done and interlaces their fingers. Maybe a more public display of their relationship is in order.

Stiles smiles amusedly. “Okay, big guy, whatever you say.”

Warren has carried Tabitha onto the platform and deposits her in a large chair, wrapping her up warmly against the cold night air. Then he makes room for his daughter and her intended. Both of them look serene, rather than excited or glowing with happiness, and kneel to speak their vows. The three older Curnock daughters are all a decade or so older than the youngest two, so thankfully this doesn’t look too much like a child bride being forced into marriage. Tabitha’s voice is surprisingly strong as she asks them to repeat the words after her.

Stiles squeezes Derek's hand tightly when he recognizes the ritual and Derek turns to look at him. They both spoke the exact same phrases before they had sex for the first time, kneeling on the bed in the loft and Stiles repeating the words after Derek without any sign of finding the archaic wording ridiculous. Now it feels like they’re making the same promises over again with an emissary present to give them another dimension. Stiles is no longer watching the couple on the platform either. Instead he’s looking into Derek’s eyes and mouthing the words with him. He’s word perfect, too, because Stiles is the smartest guy Derek knows and never forgets any details he considers important.

Then both parties on the stage cut their skin to draw blood markings on each other. Derek did the same to Stiles, but only perfunctorily. He didn’t want it to be too bloody and nowadays it’s more symbolic, any dab of blood will do. However, the couple is very carefully and solemnly drawing all twelve symbols.

Cheers erupt after Tabitha pronounces the mating as binding and ever-lasting, and Derek kisses Stiles again. When they’re leaning their foreheads together afterwards, he whispers, “I hope the Curnocks don’t go in for the traditional variation of the ceremony.”

“Why not?” Stiles asks in just the same quiet voice. “What happens at a traditional mating?”

“Public copulation.”

Stiles snorts. “You’re kidding me, right? You really used to do that? You’re winding me up… You’re not winding me up? Oh my God, you’re not even kidding.” He peeks at the platform, where the couple has thankfully stopped after the customary kiss and is now led away by the alphas of their packs. “What are they doing now?”

“They get put in a room where they’re expected to consummate the mating.”

“With people present?”

“No, but the time-honored custom is for the most senior member of each pack to wait outside until they’re done.” This is something the Curnocks may actually go for, whereas Derek doubts that a public mating has been performed by anyone anywhere in this generation or even the previous one.

Stiles is processing the information with a considerable array of facial expressions. “I’m glad ours was more private.”

Derek purses his lips. This is the very reason he didn’t consider having any witnesses at their mating. Neither of them needed the added pressure and Stiles in particular wouldn’t have wanted to broadcast what they were doing. There’s a world of difference between your friends suspecting or even knowing you’re having sex and having them in the next room while they’re waiting for you to have it. He doesn’t regret his decision, but he doesn’t want Stiles to think that he’s any less committed than he would be if they’d been witnessed. “Because it was private, a lot of wolves wouldn’t consider it binding. But I didn’t want our first time to be so public. It was a private moment for me.”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, smiling gently. “Me, too.” Then he bumps his shoulder with a grin. “But I distinctly remember it being more than a _moment._ ”

 

 

The celebrations last deep into the night. There’s music and dancing and it’s no different from any wedding. For the rest of the evening Derek plays it safe and stays around Stiles, both of them refusing to dance with anyone else, but venturing onto the dance floor together for some of the slower songs. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that this is their wedding, the start of the forever he craves. Sometimes it’s really hard for him not to dream, especially when Stiles is molded into his arms and seems so content with where he is right now.

To Derek's amusement Scott retires early, tired of all the advances made at him. It appears that even a teenage boy can have too much female attention.

The next morning they have breakfast very early before starting back for Beacon Hills, so the Curnocks are the only ones up yet. Someone’s done a Starbucks run and Derek watches Stiles prize open the lid of his coffee and look at the contents. Then he grins mischievously at Derek – who’s suddenly having trouble concentrating on what his host is saying – but eventually picks up a spoon to scoop out the foam. Derek doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.

After a pleasant meal, Warren clears his throat. “I’m glad to catch the three of you alone before you leave. Derek, in view of what you told me at dinner yesterday, I would like to make you a formal offer of one of my daughters. You can choose whichever one you’d prefer.”

Derek nearly chokes on his coffee. He didn’t expect them to do this so openly or at all – and  definitely not in front of Stiles. It seems quite the insult or at least he feels insulted on Stiles’s behalf. Naturally, Scott glowers at him as if this is his fault. “I’m very flattered, but I told you I consider my mating binding.”

Virginia smiles in that motherly way that she has. “We understand that you’re quite attached to Stiles and we respect that. He’s a lovely boy.” She smiles at a frowning Stiles before turning back to Derek. “But think about this rationally. You need a mate to carry on the family line, who understands what it’s like to be a wolf. As your pack grows, you’ll need proper support. All we’re asking is that you make her an official mate. You can keep Stiles. We wouldn’t interfere with that.”

Derek realizes that in some twisted way this is meant to be an honor. It’s the traditional way of doing things, where necessity outweighs personal considerations. He doesn’t dare look at Stiles because if he has to see that look of betrayal again, he’s going to lose it. Nobody really understands how he feels. This thing that he has with Stiles is more than being in love, more than loving, more than wanting, it’s _everything_ to him. And no one, not even Stiles – _especially_ not Stiles – gets it. Derek couldn’t possibly put it into words either. Nor does he want to.

“Hannah is fifteen,” he says instead. “I find it disturbing that you’re offering her up like chattel. I don’t presume to tell you how to bring up your children, but I can’t help feeling sorry for all your daughters.” He gets up from the table and looks at Scott. “Unless you’re considering taking Warren and Virginia up on their offer, I think we should leave.”

“Me?” Scott looks confused, but at least he’s getting up.

“Yeah, you’re the next best thing, dude,” Stiles says almost lazily, suppressing his anger. Of course, he’s already worked out that the Curnocks would make Scott the same offer next.

“I don’t think so,” Scott mutters, walking towards the door. It’s unclear whether he’s referring to the unspoken offer or the idea that he’s second best.

Derek lingers a few moments after the other two have left the room. These are his parents’ oldest friends and he can’t sever one of the few bonds he has left with them. His mother would have found a way to turn this from disaster to strength because she was so good at conciliation. He hates how bad he is with words. Has he inherited anything from her at all?

“Thank you for inviting us,” he says a little woodenly. “It was nice to see you again.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Warren says.

“Leave it, dear,” Virginia admonishes him. She steps forward, but Derek couldn’t bear any touch right now and steps back, making her stop. “It was nice to see you, too, Derek. Thank you for attending. I hope we remain friends?”

“Of course.”

He walks out of the house just in time to see Stiles and Hannah hugging by the car. Then she kisses his cheek before running off into the woods. Derek halts for a moment, watching and trying to put a lid on what he’s feeling. He knows this only too well. It’s the way he feels every time Stiles is out with his friends or talks at length about someone from school or looks at colleges. Every time Derek fucks up because his inner demons get the better of him or stays silent because he doesn’t know what to say. Every time he wakes up alone in the night and has to remind himself that it’s because Stiles has a curfew, not because he left.

They drive in silence for over an hour. Derek’s pretty sure that they’re all wishing they’d never come. This is all his fault. He thought it would be good to strengthen their ties with other wolves but all he’s done is make Beacon Hills more isolated than it has been since the fire. Sometimes he has these dreams and illusions that things could be the way he remembers them from when he was a child, when there was a large pack and plenty of friends. But he doesn’t have the talent his mother had for these things. And sometimes he just feels so damned alone. Strangely enough that’s even more true now than before he was with Stiles. There’s nothing worse than being close to him and completely separate at the same time. It happens whenever he realizes how very little they have in common and how unlikely it is that they’ll last.

The atmosphere in the car is as bad as it was when they were returning from the parley. Only, this time he doesn’t feel vindicated. This _is_ his fault. He should have left well enough alone and most of all, he shouldn’t have dragged Stiles and Scott into it. Nothing ever works according to his plans anyway. Always too many variables.

“I see you and Hannah got on well.” He knows he should just keep quiet about it, but it’s eating away at him.

“Don’t even start,” Stiles says in a flat voice.

“What? I’m just saying.”

Stiles looks out the window, then turns to Scott. “Can you listen to some music?”

“What? _Oh man_ , you two are driving me nuts. Just don’t start making out in front of me, okay?” He pulls out his ipod and a few seconds later his music comes on, loud and tinny. Derek thinks he has atrocious taste.

He watches Stiles surreptitiously out of the corners of his eyes while keeping his concentration on the road. “Something you wanna tell me about Hannah?”

“What? No. Why?”

“Because you spent most of your time with her for the last two days and she kissed you just now.”

“It was a peck on the cheek, Derek. There’s nothing to tell. She’s a nice kid and her parents told her to keep me occupied so you can find a more suitable mate.”

Derek doesn’t know what incenses him more, the fact that the Curnocks did something so premeditated or that Stiles played along with it. “Maybe it was about finding _you_ a more suitable mate.”

“I doubt it. I’m not eligible since I’m not a werewolf. Besides, there’s nothing unsuitable about the one I’ve got. Not from my point of view anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. Tell me.”

Stiles looks out the window for a while, then back at Derek, who daren’t look at him. He fervently wishes he could take the words back. At best, they’ll lead to a long discussion, at worst, they’ll end in a fight. They’ve had arguments before and each time he fears that it’s the end. And he doesn’t handle fear well. His instinct is always to lash out and hurt first before he can get hurt himself.

“Maybe they’re right, you know,” Stiles says in a calm voice although his galloping heartbeat tells a different story.

“Really?” Derek snorts sarcastically. “You think I should mate with a fifteen-year-old girl so she can produce as many babies as she can before she goes crazy? Is that how you see me? As a guy who only cares about the end game? Or is it that you think I’m a pedophile?”

“You know that’s not what I meant! Will you shut up and hear me out? All I meant was that you could do better. You’re an alpha now and you need a pack. If you don’t want to turn people, you need to accept other wolves. What would be easier than taking a mate who’s a wolf? That would be one extra pack member already. And you could have kids. And…”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Stop talking. Right now. Before I throw you out of the car. Whilst we’re driving. You have no clue what you’re talking about. You have no idea how I feel or how it works for wolves.”

“I KNOW!”

Derek swerves a little at Stiles’s uncharacteristic outburst but manages to jerk the steering wheel back before the car goes too far out of the lane. Scott gives a protesting grunt from the backseat.

“I know, alright?” Stiles says a bit quieter, his voice bitter. “I have no idea how you feel about anything because you never tell me. And I have no idea what it’s like to be a werewolf because I’m too chickenshit to find out. And…”

Abruptly, Derek pulls the car over onto the side of the road, where it comes to a screeching halt in the emergency lane after bumping a little over the rougher surface. All of them are pushed into their seatbelts by the sudden force, eliciting a, “ _What the…_ ” from Scott. He takes out one of his earbuds, looks questioningly at Stiles and then puts it back in when there’s no reaction.

Turning in his seat, Derek faces Stiles. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ say that again, okay? Don’t even think it. Becoming a werewolf is not an option for you. It’s not something you should do just so you know what it’s like. Or because all your friends are werewolves or because I am. It’s too dangerous. I need you to be safe.”

“Yeah, well, newsflash for you, big guy. Just like you can’t turn me without my consent, you also can’t stop me from doing it if I want to. It’s not up to you. It’s _my_ decision.”

Derek is out of the car in seconds. He starts walking away, reaching a small wood next to the road with just a few steps. As soon as he’s out of sight, he runs down some dirt track until the car is far behind. When he finally stops, he feels a little better for the strenuous run because over the past few days he’s been far too cooped up, exacerbated by the full moon and a large group of werewolves being too close for comfort.

Sitting on a tree trunk by the side of the track, he tries to gather his thoughts, but his mind isn’t cooperating as usual when he’s agitated. All he can think of is that he left Stiles in the middle of an argument when he _knows_ that Stiles always wants to talk things out. Derek's promised him that he would do that. Only, he can’t, because Stiles wants to talk about finding a different mate or becoming a werewolf and doesn’t realize how much the mere thought of either of those things scares Derek.

Sometimes he dreams of Stiles becoming a werewolf. In his dreams it’s never his fault, someone else has turned him, usually Scott, by accident. And Stiles turns out strong and healthy. He’ll never get sick and heal whenever he’s injured. He’ll grow old at the same rate as Derek and understands that some things just _are_. But most of all he’ll always be there. It’s those dreams that frighten Derek the most because they show him what he wants deep down and who’s to say that one day he won’t just take? He’s already doing that against his better judgment. He takes and takes from Stiles because being around him is like a drug. And every day he hopes that it won’ be the last, so he can take some more. Because he’s insatiable.

When he hears Stiles walking up to him, he doesn’t look up. The car’s parked a little way down the track now and he’s heard him long before he comes to a stop in front of him. It’s not difficult to imagine that Stiles is wearing his _you’re such an idiot_ expression, but maybe it’s an _I’m done with this_ expression and that thought makes it impossible for Derek to look at him.

After long, _long_ moments, Stiles simply stubs two fingers against his shoulder a little to make him sit up straighter. Then he climbs into his lap, wrapping his arms around him, resting his forehead on his shoulder and making Derek hang on to him for dear life.

“We’re such idiots.”

Derek huffs out a laugh. “That’s new. Usually it’s well established that I’m the idiot.” In fact, it’s become a running joke between them. Stiles calls him an idiot and Derek returns the favor by calling him a brat.

“That’s because you usually are… I can’t stop my brain from running away with an idea, Derek. And we all know that once it’s there, it _will_ come out of my mouth. It’s like a natural law or something.”

Derek huffs his assent. Stiles’s hand is in his hair, tugging it a little, just the way he likes it.

“I want what’s best for you,” Stiles continues. “I just can’t work out what that is and I may be too selfish to make it happen anyway. I like being your mate.”

Without anymore hesitation they’re kissing and Derek doesn’t really care about much else. He runs his hands along Stiles’s back and down to cup his ass until they can hear Scott shout from where the car is parked. “Dudes! I _told_ you not to do that.”

Stiles stretches out his arm to pointedly flip him off without breaking the kiss, then laughs so hard it’s impossible to carry on anyway.

When they’re back on the road, Scott seems to have undergone an astonishing transformation from morose sulking to happy chattiness. He regales them with accounts of the numerous women who threw themselves at him during the visit, including one middle-aged beta, who was so circumspect that Scott took twenty minutes to work out she was talking about herself instead of offering some younger relative. That one he seems to find almost insulting.

“It’s about building a stable pack,” Derek explains. “With you being so young, she probably thought you needed a maternal figure in your pack. The alpha’s mate is usually the one who nurtures and creates the emotional cohesion.”

Scott chuckles. “Well, Stiles, you better get ready to mother Derek's future pack then.”

“Yeah, and while I’m at it, I’ll grow boobs so I can suckle them,” Stiles retorts good-naturedly, but Derek can hear the dismissive undertones.

“It’s about being attuned to the pack’s needs,” he says. Personally, he thinks Stiles has all the required traits, from natural empathy to being able to stand his ground even with the ones he loves, while staying loyal to the alpha first and foremost. But it’s better not to think about that too hard.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**5.**

Over the Christmas period, Beacon Hills is quiet enough to make Derek very uneasy. Or maybe it’s the fact that he and Cora are spending several hours on consecutive days with the Stilinskis. Stiles does all the cooking on Christmas Day, the sheriff is jovial and upbeat and Cora is polite, clearly confused by how nice they are to her. Derek’s torn between wanting the easy domesticity and hating the reminders of a family life that he’s destroyed forever. Any holiday and any birthday of a member of his family always makes the memory that little bit more painful and while as a child he hated the fact that Christmas and his birthday are on the same day, nowadays he’s glad because it means that there’s one day less in the year for added sorrow.

As most of Stiles’s friends have only one parent left, if any, the next day is spent at the McCalls with Allison and her father thrown into the mix. It’s as excruciating as it sounded when Stiles persuaded him to attend. But he has no excuse to decline. Everything is so _quiet._ He goes for a run every day, finding nothing untoward and convinced it must be the calm before the storm. He can feel the oncoming danger almost physically. Stiles predictably calls him a worry-wolf when he tells him about it, making light of it, but Derek can hear the effort in his voice.

Just before they all sit down to dinner, he speaks to Scott to find out if he’s sensing anything, making the teen glare at him, then sighing. “It’s Christmas, Derek. Can’t we just have a bit of fun?”

Instantly he’s sorry he said anything at all. Stiles deserves a holiday season without anything supernatural interfering with his good cheer. But Derek’s so used to bouncing all his ideas off Stiles nowadays that he wasn’t thinking. He feels even worse because someone else had to point it out to him. So when Stiles asks him sometime afterwards about this feeling that he can’t shake, he plays it down and tells him he probably imagined it because Christmas makes him antsy – which isn’t a lie either. Derek hasn’t considered Christmas fun in years, not since it no longer involves a large family huddled together laughing and talking deep into the night. It makes him wonder if Stiles’s idea of having a dozen kids may not be so stupid, if a little ambitious. Or at least having a large pack. He just has no idea how to go about it and even if he did, he wouldn’t have the courage to do that again after what happened to his last two packs.

During dinner – prepared to perfection by the effortlessly multi-tasking Mrs. McCall - he watches the people around him and everyone seems so happy and excited until they eventually flake out in the living room with a lot less energy after too much food. It’s difficult for him to fit in. He’s neither one of the adults, who are all much older and parents, nor is he a teenager. And absolutely everyone, with the exception of Stiles, Mrs. McCall and maybe – surprisingly – the sheriff, gives off this vibe of being uncomfortable around him for one reason or another. After helping Scott’s mother clear the table and tidy the kitchen, he ends up alone in there until Stiles finds him and wraps his arms around him from behind. And suddenly Christmas doesn’t seem so bad after all. He even lets himself be talked into playing charades. Apparently it’s traditional in Europe to play it at this time of year and Allison insists.

 

 

“Did you have a good time?” Stiles asks him when they’re squashed together on Stiles’s bed near midnight. He doesn’t want to leave his father alone over Christmas, which has the added bonus that they don’t have to contend with Cora at the loft while she’s home for her winter break.

“Sure,” Derek grunts out, too comfortable to move or talk or even think. He’ll go home in a little while to make sure the sheriff doesn’t get into trouble for condoning this. It’s a rule they have and will stick to until Stiles is eighteen.

A sharp finger pokes into his ribs. “What did I tell you about not lying to spare my feelings?”

“I’m sparing my own feelings. I don’t want to spoil this. This is nice.” He runs his hand through Stiles’s soft hair, relishing the sensation. The longer style is definitely an improvement.

“So you hated it?”

Derek thinks about it for a while. He’s learning not to dismiss anything outright or say the first thing that comes into his head that will shut down any conversation he doesn’t want to have. But it doesn’t seem to get any easier and each time he has to force himself to speak. For Stiles. Because Stiles needs to talk about stuff. “I didn’t _hate_ it. It’s just… I don’t belong. It’s Scott’s pack and Scott’s pack’s families and I feel a little out of place. And it makes me aware that I don’t really have a pack.”

There’s a pause while Stiles tenses up. Derek can feel how upset he is and goes over his words in his mind. What did he say _this_ time? He knows that it’s Stiles’s dearest wish that he and Scott would get on and Derek's trying, he really is. Things have improved recently even if he and Scott will never be best buddies. They’re both alphas after all. “It’s alright,” he says quickly. “I’ll get used to it. It’s getting better.”

For long moments Stiles doesn’t react much and Derek is just about to ask him what he said that was so upsetting, when he speaks. It’s quiet and he’s not making eye contact. “I thought I was your pack.”

And suddenly Derek can’t breathe properly. There’s line, a line he cannot cross. He can think and talk about most things, however inadequately, but when it comes to the future and permanence and _forever_ , he loses it. The only way he can be with Stiles is if he takes it day by day. No plans, visions or hopes of a future together, because if there are promises that end up being broken, that will kill him when this all falls apart. He can’t allow himself to consider this as anything other than temporary.

Disentangling himself as gently as he can, he goes to pick up his leather jacket that’s draped over the back of the desk chair. “I’d better go before your dad kicks me out.”

Stiles hasn’t moved yet, still staring at the point where Derek's chest was a moment ago, only now it means he’s looking at empty air.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Derek asks because suddenly he’s not so sure if their plans still hold. He’s not stupid. He realizes that these hasty retreats he sometimes pulls are hard on their relationship, but he can’t always do what his better judgment tells him. Occasionally his fear wins. He knows Stiles is sincere, but he can’t possibly understand what it means to be pack, how permanent that is meant to be.

“Yeah, sure.”

When he bends down to kiss him, Stiles twists a hand in his hair and holds him there, kissing him with fierce desperation. It’s enough to make Derek want to get straight back into that bed with him – and more – despite Stilinski being in the house. But he needs space more than closeness right now because if he allows himself to give in, he’ll never be able to let go eventually.

 

 

Half an hour later he’s out in the preserve, despite the late hour and the cold. He’s running with no particular goal in mind, just needing the exercise and letting his wolf run free. Trying to process another conversation with Stiles that went spectacularly wrong, he almost wishes he’d run into something hostile so he can vent his frustration. It’s obvious he’s not handling things well and every time he fucks up, he gets that much closer to the one thing he fears so much that it makes him fuck up in the first place: losing Stiles. It’s just that whenever Stiles talks so innocently about Derek's dearest wishes, his instincts take over and he needs to get away to stop himself from just _taking_.

He misses having a pack, desperately so. Peter doesn’t really count and Cora is never there anymore, not to mention that she might one day find a mate and change packs. If Derek had a strong pack, there’d be no question of her ever leaving, which he assumes is one of the reasons she’s pushing so hard for him to get more betas. As it stands, she’ll eventually join a pack more to her liking, like Isaac did. He won’t blame her for that, just like he didn’t blame Isaac then – or now.

What makes it worse is seeing Scott surrounded by his pack all the time because he can’t help feeling a little envious. Everything comes so easily to Scott, without really trying or, in Derek's opinion, deserving it. He even has the one thing most precious to Derek: Stiles. He’s always had him, way before Derek ever met either one of them but that doesn’t make it any easier. In fact, it makes it worse because he can’t compete with that. Nor does he really want to. Scott doesn’t have the part of Stiles that he wants, but Stiles is in Scott’s pack and that is sometimes unbearable.

He’s running flat out now, eyes set on the nearly full moon, so he nearly misses it. In a small clearing, there’s a patch of grass, neither in the center, nor on the edge, innocuous looking, but when his foot touches it for a second as he’s racing over it, he gets a jolt. It’s not pain exactly, but it makes him stop and turn back, all his senses on high alert now. There’s no smell either, so he can’t be sure exactly where it was until he feels it again when he steps back on it.

It feels _wrong_. _Very_ wrong.

He withdraws his foot from the offending area and trains all his senses on the night around him until he’s absolutely certain he’s alone. Then he carefully steps forward again. The same jolt shoots through him, making him want to recoil but he forces himself to walk on until he has crossed over it, then tries different vectors until he’s established the size. It’s not large, maybe three foot by four foot and roughly oval-shaped. It looks and smells the same as the soil around it, the only difference being the feeling he gets when he comes into contact with it.

He spends two hours examining the clearing, crisscrossing it systematically until he’s confident there are no other patches of this kind. After that he hunkers down next to it for an hour, occasionally touching it with his hand, which amplifies the feeling, but mainly just thinking. What is it? Did someone or something cause this and if so, how did they get here? Or leave? Because nothing around it shows traces of anything at all, not human, not animal, not werewolf. What happened here to create this? Are there other such patches? It’s so small that the likelihood of him finding it was tiny to begin with, making it sheer chance that he came across it. There could be hundreds of them all over the preserve, but without a smell or visual clues there’s no way of finding them unless he happens to step right on them, like he did tonight.

Eventually he goes home to get a few hours sleep. When he wakes up, Cora's already left for whatever she’s planning for today. She said she’d be out for most of the day.

 

  

Isaac lets him into the house, looking a little uneasy but determined. Mrs. McCall is at work and Scott’s just sleepily making his way downstairs.

“What’s up?” he asks, still yawning widely.

“I need you to come into the woods with me, both of you. There’s something weird out there.”

“What? Right now? Can’t it wait?”

“It can wait till you had your shower and some breakfast,” Derek grouses.

Scott frowns but uncharacteristically acquiesces and Isaac, who’s already dressed, even makes him breakfast. Well, he pours some cereal into a bowl for him and passes the milk, but it’s the thought that counts, especially since there’s fresh coffee as well.

An hour later the three of them are still out in the clearing. They’ve been joined by Stiles and all of them have walked over the _sinister spot,_ as Stiles has dubbed it because he loves alliteration, a dozen times or so. Only Derek can feel anything, the same as it was during the night. He can understand that Stiles and maybe even Isaac aren’t sensing anything, but Scott? He’s an alpha, a true alpha even, not to mention the Chosen One. That would suggest that Derek’s imagining it. But he knows he’s not crazy, despite that obviously being Scott’s preferred explanation.

Isaac is looking on unhappily and walking over the spot relentlessly, willing himself to feel something. Derek is somewhat touched by his small show of support.

“Lydia,” Stiles says suddenly, already pulling out his phone, while the others still look befuddled. “She’s more sensitive than all of us together.” He’s giving her directions less than two minutes later.

Derek wishes Cora was here. Maybe this is a family thing? The Hales have an intricate bond with the land, which may be necessary to sense this. Eventually the Martin girl turns up, thankfully not in high heels as he expected but unfortunately with Aiden in tow. She lets Stiles explain the situation again, while her boyfriend walks over the patch with no apparent effect. Derek waits.

Eventually Lydia comes forward, nods at him and crouches down. She puts her hand on the grass, but withdraws it immediately, shaking it like she’s been stung. _Finally_ somebody is on the same page and the whole atmosphere in the group changes, as this is no longer something that Derek may or may not be making up, or worse, may be imagining. Stiles gives him a _told-you_ look and grins widely at his own cleverness. Derek rolls his eyes.

Lydia is kneeling on the edge of the spot now, trying to get her ear close to it without touching it. Everyone falls silent, watching her do her thing after she twists the masses of her hair to stop it from tumbling onto the grass.

“It’s deep,” she says bafflingly. How can the earth be deep when there’s no hole? “There’s kind of an echo. And rage, a lot of rage. It wants to hurt. Anyone. It’s saying something… over and over… I can’t quite…” She kneels back onto her haunches sharply, looking pale and frightened. When Derek thinks about it, he can’t remember ever seeing her anything other than frightened or slightly dazed in these situations. It must be a pain to be a banshee but usually sheer determination gets her through.

“What’s it saying?” Scott asks.

“Kill. Just that one word over and over again. This is pure evil.”

Derek already knows that, although he wouldn’t have phrased it quite so melodramatically. “What is it?”

“How would I know?”

“Is it alive?”

“Definitely.”

“Where did it come from?”

“My best guess is from down there.” She points to the ground.

“Great,” Stiles says sarcastically. “An evil earth entity. We haven’t come across one of those before.”

Already picturing him in his habitual pose, hunched over his computer doing research, Derek smiles for a moment. Then he sobers at the thought of how to fight a patch of soil.

“Sooo,” Stiles says, drawing out the word. “What we have here is a bit of dirt. In the middle of the woods. That only certain werewolves and banshees can feel. We know it’s evil but the real question is what can it _do_? I mean. It’s not _going_ anywhere, is it? Nor is it anywhere near where anybody will stumble over it who isn’t running through the woods in the middle of the night.” Here he gives Derek a pointed look. “So even if it could, let’s say, hurt or possess people, I’d say there are limited chances for it to do that. Just saying, you know.”

Lydia rounds on him. “Just because you can’t feel it, doesn’t mean you should just dismiss it. That right there is evil and evil is never a good thing.” She stops when Stiles grins at her. “What?”

“ _Evil_ is never a _good_ thing?” he smirks.

Everybody’s snickering now, and Lydia rolls her eyes after a few moments of consternation. Then she exchanges a look of understanding with Derek. It’s difficult to feel alarmed about something you can’t see, hear, smell or feel. Maybe he’s making too much of it but Lydia seems to take it pretty seriously, which is definitely an advantage because it means that eventually they all will.

“Whatever it is,” Isaac says, pulling his scarf a little tighter. “Can we discuss it somewhere else? I’m starving.”

“You just had breakfast,” Scott points out.

“Well, I’m freezing,” Lydia says. “So why don’t we all go to the diner?”

Stiles told Derek that the group has started frequenting an old-style diner within reasonable walking distance from each of their homes. Derek's been in there a few times before, met the sheriff there once to have a memorably embarrassing chat about Stiles but is by no means a regular.

When they get there, Kira’s already arrived and just as they’ve found seats, Allison turns up – most likely invited by either Isaac or Scott – which means that they all have to squeeze a little closer and Stiles ends up practically sitting in his lap. Derek’s certainly not complaining about that turn of events. Scott explains the situation and Allison seems suitably worried. Just like Stiles, she likes to be prepared. It’s her finest quality, as far as Derek's concerned – that and being really competent in a fight.

Scott offers to ask Deaton if he knows anything, but Derek doesn’t hold out much hope for that. The vet seems to be inherently incapable of divulging any useful information. Derek tells them he‘ll take Cora out there tomorrow to see if the ability to spot it has something to do with being a Hale, although that doesn’t sound very plausible to him either. He wonders if Scott was simply not trying hard enough, then completely loses track of that thought while watching Stiles suck coffee foam from his finger. He can feel his breathing stutter for a few moments until he gets it under control.

At first, Stiles appears oblivious but then he looks at Derek with an impish grin. Despite having his mind firmly in the gutter, Derek is struck mainly by how happy he looks. Because of his chattiness Stiles always seems happy but it’s all too often just a front, although recently it’s felt a lot more genuine. Derek tries to maintain a straight face but can feel that he’s losing the battle. And for just a few moments everything falls away – the new threat, sitting here with a bunch of teenagers who don’t really like him, having a boyfriend who’s making him worry pretty much all the damned time – and all that’s left is Stiles, smiling at him before surging forwards and kissing the corner of his mouth that’s twitching treacherously.

At the same time, Lydia says, “Maybe you two should get a room.”

Stiles turns to smile brightly at her. “It’ll keep.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says loftily.

“I think you two are really sweet together,” Kira pipes up with the air of someone determined to have her say, despite feeling a little awkward about speaking up in front of the group.

“Did you hear that?” Stiles tilts his head facetiously. “You’re _sweet_.”

“That’s not what she said,” Derek says gruffly, feeling a little off-balance. Nobody’s ever called him sweet before, at least not since the fire. He doesn’t mind the occasional saccharine episode with Stiles when they’re alone but draws the line at doing it in public.

“Face it, Derek,” Scott says. “Your reputation is well and truly shot. Nobody who’s seen you with Stiles will ever take your surly, menacing routine seriously again.”

“Well, I can always kick people’s backsides to prove it,” Derek retorts, not entirely sure how he ended up in the middle of this banter. He should probably blame Kira for that or maybe Lydia.

“Or you could intimidate people with your eyebrows,” Stiles interjects helpfully, trying to wiggle his own but ending up mainly blinking rapidly.

“Not at the same time.” Scott is all good-natured teasing all of a sudden. “His eyebrows disappear when he wolves out.”

“Have you two quite finished annihilating my reputation?” Derek can’t quite pull off the grousing tone he was aiming for.

“Oh yeah,” Isaac pipes up from the other end of the table. “I’d say Operation Annihilation is complete.”

Derek looks at them all grinning at him and wishes they’d get back to the problem at hand or at least to awkwardly ignoring him again. But there’s Stiles squeezing his hand under the table and looking so joyful that it might just be worth the mortification. “If any of you makes a dog joke, you’re dead,” he deadpans to general hilarity.

After that, nobody talks about the thing in the woods anymore and for once he’s content to listen to their light-hearted conversation about school and people he doesn’t know. The other twin turns up with that guy who helped them trace a message once and Derek realizes within a few moments that the others think he isn’t in on any of their secrets. Derek has his own ideas about that. The guy, _Danny_ if he remembers correctly, seems too smart not to have at least some suspicions.

It’s more of an after-school get-together than a crisis meeting now. Stiles talks animatedly, clowning about a little and smiling at Derek every now and then to check if he’s enjoying himself. To Derek's own surprise, he _is_. He was younger than these teenagers when his family got killed and he missed out on more than two years of carefree schooldays. He can feel himself drawn to the easygoing flow of the conversation and just wishes that none of them had any more serious problems to tackle than the unfairness – what else? – of their teachers and the ridiculousness of their classmates.

Later, when it’s just the two of them in Stiles’s room, he asks why Scott’s suddenly decided on a cessation of hostilities.

“Because Scott’s awesome,” Stiles says with that special brand of enthusiasm that he reserves for his best friend. “And a really good friend. I just had to remind him how supportive I was when he changed overnight and how I overlooked that he tried to kill me once or twice.”

“He did _what_?”

“Oops. Try not to freak out about this. No freaking out, alright? It was a long time ago. Bygones, man, bygones. And I also reminded him of how I helped him with Allison. So he promised me to do the same.”

Derek pulls him a little closer and kisses him. Sometimes he wishes that instead of all the physical advantages he has, he had some kind of superpower that could shape people and events to make Stiles happy. Because Stiles deserves only the best. He deserves his mother being alive and his life not being at risk from supernatural threats all the time and his friends realizing that he’s truly the best of them and most of all to have someone special in his life who makes it easier and pleasanter instead of more complicated.

“The thing is,” Stiles carries on because something as simple as a kiss doesn’t have the capacity to seriously interrupt his flow at all. “I think Scott actually likes you. He’s just having a hard time with being a werewolf still. And all the responsibility of being an alpha. And the only person who could help him is you. Only he hasn’t really trusted you since you killed Peter, but he wants to. And I think you like him, too. If you two could just get your heads out of your asses, you would make a great team. There’s no reason why you have to be at loggerheads, really. You like him, don’t you?”

“Scott’s an idiot,” Derek says simply, a little distracted by Stiles’s efforts to divest him of his shirt, so he lifts his arms to assist him.

“He’s Scott. He didn’t become an alpha by outsmarting everyone. But he’s adorable, you can’t _not_ like him.” Stiles chucks Derek's shirt into a corner and follows it with his own.

“You just agreed that your best friend’s an idiot,” Derek points out, dropping to his knees and opening Stiles’s pants, while placing kisses all over his stomach.

Stiles’s hands fold around his head, tangling in his hair a little, not to caress or guide but to halt him. “So you think you’ll never be friends?”

“We’re both alphas.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. We’ve seen a whole pack of alphas.”

Derek sighs and gets back up. “Now who’s talking about other people when we’re having sex?”

“We’re not having sex… yet.” Stiles is grinning but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Derek steps away. He doesn’t want to talk about Scott. It reminds him too much of a time when he was at his lowest. Laura had just died and he was living in the ruins of the old house because he had nowhere to go and felt it was fitting somehow. In those days he was invested in Scott, in teaching him, in becoming pack. Scott’s refusal had cut deep and had led Derek to creating a pack he couldn’t protect. Although he no longer blames anyone but himself for that, what remains is the memory of desperate loneliness at that time. It blends in with how he feels about Scott now, the last vestiges of jealousy, anger and frustration he has to work hard to overcome. He tried so hard with Scott just to have it thrown back into his face every single time. His mistrust of the boy’s intentions ultimately proved well-founded when he forced him to give Gerard the bite. Derek has never really forgotten that, how helpless he felt, how violated and, yes, scared. It was the worst he'd felt since Laura died and it’s only been eclipsed by how killing Boyd made him feel.

All of these emotions make it hard for him to see Scott for what he is, a teenager thrown into a difficult situation and trying the best he can. It’s not his fault that he got bitten or that he’s not the sharpest tool in the box. And as usual in these moments, Derek wishes that Peter had chosen Stiles that night. Maybe then Derek would have a stable pack by now. And if anyone has the makings of a true alpha, it’s Stiles.

“Don’t do that,” Stiles says quietly.

“Do what?”

“Move away from me. Disappear into your own head. No, no, don’t look at me like that. I’m not imagining this. I ask you something and all of a sudden you‘re halfway out the door, or the window more likely in your case. It happens a lot, more than before. We talked about this. You promised me to talk to me, to at least try. This is not a difficult question. Do you like Scott?” Stiles is leaning against his desk, his arms crossed, looking determined.

“Why is that important?” Derek grits out, feeling cornered and helpless. He has no idea how to explain to Stiles why he can’t talk about some things. And if he can’t even explain that, then Stiles will write him off as a lost cause soon.

“Because I’m tired of being in the middle of this. I’m going out of my mind. My best friend thinks my boyfriend isn’t good enough for me and I don’t even _know_ what my boyfriend thinks of my best friend. And you know what I see? I see two werewolves in a town full of weird happenings and weird people and weird creatures, who could really make a difference if they would just work together. And today was the first time in ages, if not ever, that things were actually going well. I just want to know if it’ll stay that way. Can it stay that way, please?”

“I went to Scott for help this morning, didn’t I? I dragged him out into the woods and when he couldn’t feel anything, he obviously thought I’m crazy. I’m not the problem, Stiles. I never was.” He doesn’t like how bitter his voice sounds. Right now he can’t even work out if he’s angry with Scott or with Stiles. Or maybe it’s not really anger at all.

Stiles either just isn’t frightened of him anymore even when he’s angry or he simply interprets Derek's abrasiveness as something else because he steps forwards and winds his arms around his naked torso. Derek can feel the heat of his body, which smells a little of soap and deodorant and a lot of Stiles and pulls him close, burying his head in the crook of his shoulder. Over time, Stiles has started poking into every nook and cranny of Derek's carefully constructed walls, trying to find a way in and rattling the foundations in the process. And Derek is helpless to stop him because when he does, he always follows it with something like this: warmth and support and just being there. Derek wants to pick him up and hide him somewhere where he’ll never leave again. Then he could poke about to his heart’s content.

“I had a good time today,” Stiles says quietly.

“Yeah, it was good,” Derek agrees and means it.

And then they both remember that the sheriff will only be at work for another couple of hours and that it’s been way too long since they had a place to themselves.

 

 

When he comes home a little late from looking for more _sinister spots_ in the woods two days later, he knows immediately that there are people in the building who don’t belong here. _Werewolves_. But there’s also the very familiar smell of Stiles who finished school half an hour ago. Instantly worried, he rushes up the stairs and throws back the door without any regard for his own safety. All he wants – _needs_ – is to get to his mate.

There are three werewolves in the loft. One is near the door, standing guard and watching him closely. Two are in the armchairs while Stiles is sitting on the couch opposite and they’re all… _drinking tea_. Derek glares menacingly at the guy by the door, then makes his way into the room until he reaches the couch.

“You alright?” he asks Stiles, who nods with a small smile. Derek can hear his heart beating in that rabbity staccato that he has when he’s frightened. But any reassurance other than his mere presence will have to wait until later. He looks at the other two. One is a young woman, lithe but powerful. The other one he recognizes as one of the men he met at the Curnocks. He casts about for a name and comes up with _Hank_.

“Did you ask them in?” he asks Stiles without taking his eyes off the other alpha.

“Why? Is there some vampire-type thing I’m not aware of? Werewolves can’t enter each others’ houses unless they’re invited?” He waits for Derek to look at him to gauge his mood, then his grin turns into a more sober expression and he nods once in understanding. “They kind of invited themselves in. I said you weren’t here and they said something like, ‘Surely you won’t mind if we come in?’ _Is_ there a werewolf etiquette because I wasn’t sure what to do, so I let them. You would tell me if there was some etiquette, right?”

As if he had much of a choice. He could hardly have stopped them. Derek glares at Hank, then looks back at Stiles, checking him over quickly one more time, and saying pointedly, “Scott wants you to call him. As soon as possible. In fact you should go there now.” He doesn’t care if this looks exactly like the ploy it is to get Stiles out of harm’s way.

Stiles frowns for a moment. “But I’m just having tea with these nice fellow werewolves of yours.” It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to leave, despite his fear. But he changes tack when Derek raises his eyebrows at him. “Right. Scott. More important than having tea. I’ll get right on that. He’s probably having girlfriend trouble again. Can’t leave that guy alone for five minutes.” He finds his jacket and his phone while saying goodbye to the visitors with somewhat bizarre politeness and is fooling no one with his hasty retreat.

Hank looks at the door after it’s closed then turns to Derek with a mocking smile. “He’s really something, that one. You didn’t have to send him away. We mean him no harm.” There’s subterfuge there, not an outright lie but not quite the truth either.

“I don’t appreciate you barging into my home.” Derek hasn’t sat down yet, listening intently until he hears the door downstairs fall shut. Stiles isn’t wasting any time.

“We meant no harm,” Hank says again. “And your _mate_ did let us in.” This time there’s obvious disdain.

“No matter how much you obviously disrespect my choices, you have no right to judge me or mine and you have no right to try and intimidate my mate.”

“Your mate didn’t look intimidated to me.”

“That would be the reason I said _try_. Stiles doesn’t scare easily.” Which isn’t entirely true. He scares easily enough, but that doesn’t mean that he backs down.

“Can we just calm down a little?” the woman says in a deceptively gentle voice. “You don’t even know why we came.” Unfortunately for her, Peter speaks in much the same manner, so she’s not exactly reassuring.

“I’m not interested in why you’re here. I simply don’t want you here.”

“Well, that’s too bad because you _will_ listen,” Hank says with an almost bored drawl.

Derek looks speculatively towards the guard by the door, then at the two werewolves opposite him. He could probably take each of them individually or maybe even a combination of two of them, although that’s more doubtful. Hank's an alpha and both the others look very fit. Defeating all three of them is definitely out of the question.

“What do you want?”

“We want to recruit you.”

Derek chortles. If that’s really the reason they’re here, they have a strange way of going about it. But he’s heard it all before anyway. “Are you sure you want me? There’s another alpha in Beacon Hills. The last bunch who came with recruitment in mind seemed to get us a little mixed up.”

“We don’t want the kid. We don’t take unnatural wolves. I don’t know what he’s supposed to be, but no bitten wolf has ever become a true alpha.”

Derek feels strangely put out on Scott’s behalf. It’s a very curt dismissal for such a rare achievement, not to mention that he’s heard this expression before. _Unnatural wolf_. That never heralds anything good.

“What is it you do?”

“We’re a group of hunters.”

Werewolves should never call themselves that. It just isn’t right. “And you’re hunting what exactly?”

“Whatever needs hunting. Hunters mainly. Or werewolves that put us all at risk. Or whoever finds out about us and is considered untrustworthy.”

“Considered by whom?”

“Oh come on, Derek, you’re from one of the oldest and most respected lines we have. Surely I don’t have to explain to you how it works. Or what constitutes undesirable behavior. It’s self-explanatory.”

“Did you kill those hunters last month?”

“Not personally, we have other ways. They had it coming.”

“So you’re the vigilantes?”

“Vigilantes is such an ugly word. And it implies that there’s a law enforcement that’s actually concerned about what happens to us. There isn’t. In fact there’s a conspiracy to turn a blind eye. Nobody cared what happened to your family, did they? It was officially an electrical fire if I remember rightly.”

Derek thins his lips, trying to remain calm. Why do people always insist on talking about his family? “The sheriff didn’t know about werewolves and hunters at the time.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“ _Very_.”

“But he knows about us now?”

_Shit, shit, shit_. Although this isn’t news to the other alpha – Derek remembers mentioning it before at the Curnocks – it won’t do to draw attention to Stiles’s father. He grits his teeth and gives Hank his most determined stare. “He’s family.”

“Ah yes, another one of your motley crew.”

“What do you want from me?” Despite his best effort not to jump the gun to violence any longer, the idea is becoming more and more tempting.

“We want you to clean up your town. Weed out all the bad apples and stop condoning things that aren’t right. Why is Gerard Argent even alive still? Or the rest of his family? You have more reason than most to want to get rid of them. Then get rid of McCall before he becomes a problem. And don’t leave out any humans who know about us. We have to get back to the old ways when we were a small elite group, when humans were prey, not friends or… _mates._ ”

“You want me to go on a killing spree?” Derek is incredulous. How would they expect him to get away with it, if they even do? “Surely that would draw more unwanted attention.”

“You’re either with us or against us, Derek. If you don’t do it, we will.”

The guard by the door gives a sub-vocal growl at the same time as Derek hears Scott enter the building and Isaac come up the fire escape. They must have been really close when Stiles called and they’re moving very fast. Almost casually, Derek flicks out his claws and shifts into his wolf, trying to ignore the thought that recently the shift has felt a little strange. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but it’s distracting. For now, he pushes the thought to the back of his mind.

The other three have shifted by the time Scott throws open the door, not wolfed out yet, and Isaac appears at the window. Stiles rushes in after his friend, twirling his baseball bat in one hand with the uncharacteristic coordination that only adrenaline gives him.

For a few moments, there’s a stand-off with eyes glowing in three different colors – both the other betas sport blue ones, no surprise there – and warning growls issued. Then Derek bares his fangs a little. “Like I said, I don’t appreciate you barging into my home.”

Hank shifts back until only his eyes, fangs and claws are showing. “Think about the offer,” he says easily and moves towards the door.

“I won’t,” Derek spits out, too riled up to change back yet.

Scott and Stiles step out of the way as the other werewolves file past them. By now Isaac has made his way in through the window and comes closer until he reaches Scott. Derek simply walks the visitors out and shuts the door behind them. They all stand silently to listen to the footsteps until they exit the building. Then he shifts back and Stiles exhales his relief.

“Are you okay?” He comes over and puts a hand on Derek's back.

“Yeah, they were just throwing their weight about.”

“Their bark worse than their bite?” There’s an abundance of worry hidden under the projected humor.

“What did I tell you about making dog jokes?” Derek grouses as Stiles puts his forehead against his arm with a relieved chuckle.

“That punishment will follow any mention of it?” is the happy retort tipping effortlessly into lasciviousness, causing Scott to exclaim an outraged, “Oy, dude,” while Isaac pretends not to have heard anything by looking completely vacant.

Derek pinches Stiles’s side in a promise of things to come, making him dance away while grinning at his friend. Scott mimes pouring something from a bottle onto his head, a gesture that means bleaching your brain, according to Stiles. Then Derek starts the thankless task of filling the others in on yet another threat that has come to Beacon Hills.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**6.**

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks from the doorway, his voice quivering in suppressed delight. “I mean, it’s not as if you don’t have any reason to be proud of your physique and, fuck knows, I’d be spending most of my time in front of a mirror if I looked like you. But that’s because I’m shallow like that. It’s a character flaw, I admit it. But it’s one you don’t possess, with your obvious lack of awareness of how hot you are and all. So the question remains, what _are_ you doing?”

Derek withdraws his eyes from the large mirror above the bathroom sink to look at him. Stiles has shed his coat and scarf somewhere in the loft, possibly strewn over the floor as is his habit, and is sporting a t-shirt in green and orange that should be hideous but suits him somehow. His cheeks are still a little flushed from the cold wind outside and his eyes are shining. He has his lips folded in to suppress an outright grin and he is… simply beautiful. There’s something so incredibly open about him that takes Derek's breath away every single time and scares him half to death with worry.

Stiles hesitates a moment, jutting his chin forward and mouthing a  _what?_ with raised eyebrows and a smile that’s becoming slightly uncertain and when Derek’s too preoccupied to say anything, he purses his lips in amusement. “You do realize you’re naked, right?”

Derek tears himself away from admiring his mate and looks back into the mirror. “Watch this.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve no intention _whatsoever_ to look anywhere else.”

Trying not to get side-tracked, Derek shifts into his wolf, causing Stiles to inhale sharply. He doesn’t usually change unless he needs to prepare for a fight or at least intimidate. While he can shift at will, he restricts it to times when he’s alone, out in the woods, usually on the full moon. He turns to look at Stiles questioningly.

Stiles frowns. “Actually, that’s… a little weird. Obviously I don’t have any issues with you being a werewolf, but being a naked werewolf is a little freaky. Is there a particular reason why we’re skirting bestiality?”

“Try and ignore that I’m naked. What do you see?”

“Uhm… I have to tell you that ignoring _that_ is not the easiest thing you ever asked me to do, but here it goes: I see… you… being a werewolf… with the fangs and the claws… and the eyes… and the hair… and did I mention the nakedness?”

“So you agree that I have more hair than before? I thought so.”

“Derek, I’ve never seen you in all your naked wolf-ly glory before, so I can’t tell the difference.”

“What? Oh.” Of course, Stiles hasn’t seen him without clothes when he’s wolfed out. Why would he? The most they’ve done during sex was light scraping with his claws – Stiles likes the feel of them on his skin. While there’s rough sex at times, neither one of them gets off on power play and Derek has never had a problem with controlling the shift during sex.

He takes another look at his body in the mirror. There’s definitely more hair overall. That’s probably what’s given him the feeling that there’s something not quite right the last few times he shifted. But it doesn’t seem to decrease his power, quite the opposite. Maybe it’s part of the ageing process. His father was very hairy as a wolf, but he was hairy as a man as well, and of course, his mother was a full wolf, which gave her a lot of hair by default, even where she had none as a human. But he’s still in his early twenties, hardly an age where he would be considered old, especially not in werewolf terms. And if this is an age thing, that’s just one more argument why he shouldn’t be with a teenager, isn’t it? It always comes back to that.

Stiles pads over to him and runs his fingertips over his forehead and down to the tip of his nose, making him relax and lean into the touch involuntarily. “The bulges over your eyes look smaller and your nose seems different somehow. But I could be mistaken because usually when you wolf out, I’m more focused on the reason why you’re bringing out the superpowers.”

He strokes gently over the hair on his stomach, smiling at Derek’s shiver. “Is this good for you? Do you… would you like to… incorporate this into our sex life? To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about it, but you know I try anything once and if it’s important to you…”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles wraps his arms around him, despite his heartbeat picking up speed to a not quite comfortable level. He’s always willing to go the extra mile for Derek, even if he’d rather not.

In the past Derek sometimes wondered what it would be like to have sex as a wolf. He’s heard that it’s fantastic, like you hear how great all sorts of things supposedly are when you talk to other adolescents. One of his older cousins used to brag about his stamina as a wolf, but whether it was true or not is another question. Ever since he started this relationship, he’s had no wish for it. He tends to lose his human side when he’s wolfed out, and why on earth would he want that with Stiles? “I want to be me when I’m with you.”

Without warning, Stiles lunges forward and kisses him. Derek is caught somewhat off-guard and his fangs scrape on Stiles’s tongue before he retracts them hastily, shifting back during the kiss. The realization that Stiles obviously no longer fears his wolf in the slightest fills him with a delight that makes him pick up his mate and deposit him on the edge of the sink.

Stiles chuckles a little and pulls his own shirt over his head. This is always so easy between them, has been from the very beginning. In a sense, they’ve been discovering sex together because Derek never even contemplated being with a guy before and Stiles was a virgin. In true teenager fashion, Stiles is always ready and very enthusiastic. He’s also very adventurous, with a penchant for experimenting, to an extent that Derek sometimes worries exactly how much time he spends online, looking at porn. Like everything else in his life, Stiles approaches sex with verve bordering on obsession and hopes to get control of the situation through copious research – although he doesn’t seem to mind being _out of control_ either.

Stiles braces himself on his hands to allow Derek to slide his pants and underwear off. Derek makes short work of his shoes and socks as well while he’s squatting down and then plants little nips and bites on the inside of Stiles’s legs as he moves back up. Stiles is already squirming and moaning, one of his hands rummaging blindly in the cabinet by the side of the sink, the other holding on tight so he won’t fall off the ledge.

Derek takes his time until he reaches the twitching cock and starts laving it with his tongue when Stiles shoves the lube at him. He loves how desperate Stiles gets, how focused he is on Derek as if no one else could ever make him feel like this.

“Fuck me.”

Derek smiles a little. “I will. When I’m ready.”

The lube bottle is tapped against his cheek a few times, gently, but with a rapid rhythm that conveys an utter lack of patience. “Now. You’re ready. I’m ready. Now.”

Derek moves off Stiles’s cock and ignores the mixed signal his frustrated groan is sending out. He’s grinning a little when they’re kissing furiously. “Turn around.”

Stiles does as he’s told, pushing his ass towards him and wiggling it provocatively. He certainly knows how to get Derek to hurry. But Derek never loses sight of the fact that Stiles is fragile compared to him and needs a certain amount of restraint even during the rough fucks. He applies plenty of lube, pushing his fingers in hard only when they start to glide in easily.

Stiles moans. “Will you just fuck me?” He stills when Derek pushes inside him, sighing a little in contentment, and their eyes meet in the mirror. From one moment to the next the mood between them changes, like it so often does. There’s a soft smile on Stiles’s lips and Derek wants to look away but can’t. This is going to be the death of him, all this intensity, the way his heart beats a little out of control, not just from arousal but from emotions he can’t quite contain, the overwhelming fear of what life will be like when it all ends. _Stiles_ is going to be the death of him.

He pulls back unhurriedly until his cock almost slips out, then presses in just as slowly while Stiles pushes back onto him, slow but hard, as if he’s trying to fuse them together. They don’t need to find a rhythm, it finds them. It’s too much, the hot gaze that doesn’t waver, the feeling of being so intimately connected, the sheer physical sensation of moving in and out of that inviting body. And at the same time it’s not enough. He wants to crawl into Stiles and never leave, make it so that Stiles can never leave. Nothing is ever enough.

Derek changes the angle of the hips under his hands without much thought and suddenly Stiles is mewling when Derek's cock moves inside him. “Yes… oh fuck… that’s it… just there... don’t stop…” They’re moving faster now because there’s no way that they possibly could not. Stiles’s babbling is speeding up as well, but he never stops looking at him in their reflection. Eventually, when he’s close, Derek reaches around to touch Stiles’s dick, stroking it with efficiency that comes from knowing someone’s body like his own. And who would have thought _that_ would be such a turn-on?

They almost come together, Stiles hissing out something incoherent, spluttering come into the sink and a couple of streaks up the mirror. Derek’s just five thrusts behind, closer together than they’ve ever been. Not that it matters, but it’s undeniably nice to come down from the blissful high together, bodies plastered against each other through sweat and Derek draping himself over Stiles’s back and not wanting to ever let go. Stiles’s hands reach back, one to stroke his flank and the other at Derek's neck while his whole body leans against him, trusting in his strength, his head resting back on Derek's shoulder. Derek always expects the feeling to diminish. Naturally, the afterglow fades gradually but the core feeling of wanting to stay close, as close as possible for as long as possible, remains.

Stiles is still looking at him in the mirror. “I love you. I want to kiss you right now.”

Derek pulls out of him gently and allows him to turn in his arms to do what he promised. It’s slow and deep and wet. Derek closes his eyes, and just for a few minutes allows himself to enjoy this without creating doom-laden scenarios in his mind.

 

 

They see in the New Year with a party at the loft. Stiles organizes it all, so Derek just has to show up in his own apartment and that makes it bearable. The guests consist mainly of friends of Stiles and friends of those friends. Cora is there with what appears to be a _very_ close friend and Derek watches the guy surreptitiously until Stiles pulls him onto the dance floor, saying, “Stop frightening the poor guy off with your scary eyebrow routine.” When Derek looks again, Cora and the guy are just disappearing up the spiral stairs and Stiles gives him an amused _are-you-really-going-to-be-that-kind-of-brother?_ look, so he curbs his first instinct of going after them.

Derek sometimes wonders if it’s a family thing or a werewolf thing that makes him so overprotective. After all, it’s unlikely that Cora needs defending. But even if he wasn’t her alpha, he will always be her big brother and worry comes with the territory. He knows better than anyone that strength doesn’t mean anything because he could have ripped Kate to shreds any number of times without breaking a sweat. She still got the better of him. He also knows that Stiles could do the same to him just as easily but he’s strangely unworried about that. Stiles won’t hurt him, at least not in the trying-to-kill-anyone sense. For every other sense, especially the unintentional ones, all bets are off.

In the morning, he wakes up in bed with Stiles wrapped around him in the familiar way and Isaac curled on top of the cover next to his leg in a very _un_ familiar way. A cellphone goes off over by the couch and he senses Scott there before he hears him answering it with a sleep-laden voice after the umpteenth ring. There are more people in various places that must have promised some comfort in the early hours of the morning but prove to have very little in the light of day, judging by the painful groans. He decides not to get involved.

Stiles is stretching languidly, muttering a grumpy, “Will you answer that, dude?” in Scott’s direction before rubbing his forehead against Derek's naked back just between the shoulder blades. “Happy New Year, sleepywolf.”

“I’m perfectly awake,” Derek says. In fact, he’s slept very little due to the influx of strangers in his territory. He watches as Isaac stretches sleepily and then hurriedly drops over the edge of the bed and out of sight when he realizes where he is. “Happy New Year. You, too, Isaac.”

Isaac’s head pops up over the side of the bed and he grins sheepishly. “You, too, Derek. And, eh, you, Stiles. Uhm, I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“Man, did you sleep in our bed?” Stiles asks, his head resting on Derek's shoulder now so he can look at Isaac, then back at Derek. “Did he sleep in our bed? Why did he sleep in our bed? And why didn’t I notice? Oh god, we didn’t have sex with him right there, did we? Or… we didn’t have sex _with_ him, did we? Please, tell me we didn’t have sex with Isaac. That’s, like, incestuous or something. God, I’m never drinking again.”

“We didn’t have sex at all,” Derek reassures him. “Someone spiked the punch so there’s quite a few people still here. I didn’t think you’d like an audience.” He’s not going to go into detail about how horny – and insistent – Stiles was last night. Luckily his intoxication meant that his efforts didn’t last long once he was under the sheets.

“Too right! Who spiked the punch? It wasn’t Lydia, was it? She likes to use wolfsbane. And that wouldn’t be good.”

Very true. Lydia and wolfsbane are not a good combination. “No, it was that guy with the green hair. And it was just alcohol.”

“And the fact that you know that and didn’t do anything about it shows what an irresponsible chaperon you are. You don’t adult properly. You shouldn’t be allowed to adult.” He kisses Derek's shoulder. “Thank you. It was a great party.”

“It was alright.” Derek had a good time, too, but admitting it would only lead to more parties at his loft. “Now, will you please get rid of the remainder of your friends so we can have the place back to ourselves?”

It turns out that Stiles’s idea of getting rid of the stragglers is to make them all breakfast. Derek pulls the sheet over his head when someone puts the music back on – at an only marginally lower volume than last night – but luckily other people’s hangovers soon take care of that. Eventually he grabs some of the bacon Stiles is so generously providing to their guests and goes to have a shower.

When he comes back out, breakfast hasn’t progressed much further, with bleary-eyed teenagers hanging around various parts of the room, trying to wake or sober up enough to be able to go home.

“I’m going for a run,” he tells Stiles, who just waves a tired hand, pouring coffee with the other one.

When he gets to the door, Isaac catches up with him. “Can I come?”

Derek wordlessly holds the door open.

 

 

They drive out to the preserve and Derek takes them on a path through the middle of the woods. He’s been crisscrossing the forest ever since he came across the strange patch, hoping to find others or rather hoping that he won’t. The truth is that the area is too big to cover it in a dense enough grid and not finding any patches means nothing. Cora didn’t feel anything either when he took her out here the other day and he can hardly expect Lydia to help. So he’s on his own. It would take him years run a tight enough pattern, decades even.

They stop after some miles, Isaac being a little more out of breath than any werewolf has a right to be but Derek doesn’t say anything. The boy looks a little lost which, granted, is kind of what he always looks like but he also keeps taking a breath to say something and then doesn’t. Derek should just ignore it but it’s Isaac and he still feels responsible for him somehow. So he waits, looking encouragingly at the teenager.

“How often do you exercise?” Isaac finally asks.

“The last few days I’ve been running every day, a few hours at a time. But that’s only because I want to see if there are any more of those _sinister spots_. Normally I work out once a day for a couple of hours. You?”

“Scott held meetings for a while but we only ran once a week and on the full moon. The meetings were with Allison and Stiles and sometimes Lydia, so we couldn’t do much physical stuff. But we don’t have meetings anymore anyway. I think Scott got bored.”

Now that it’s been pointed out, Derek realizes that Stiles hasn’t mentioned meetings for a while. It must be a month or two. Interesting, although not particularly surprising. Scott has never seen much point in werewolf activities.

“Derek?”

Derek just looks at him silently until Isaac carries on.

“I’m really sorry about what I said to you that time, you know, when I left.”

“That’s alright. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“But you were my alpha and I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I shouldn’t have left.”

“I wanted you to leave, Isaac. You realize that, right?”

“Yeah, kind of. And I was glad at the time. I wanted to be more like Scott. I’m not very good with fighting and stuff. I don’t really like it. But Scott never wants to do _any_ thing werewolf-related. He just wants to forget that he is one most of the time. Which is fair enough because he never wanted to be a werewolf in the first place. But it was my choice and my life’s so much better now. I don’t have to be afraid anymore. So I want to be better at it.”

Derek watches him silently as he’s twisting the hem of his shirt in embarrassment. He remembers Boyd telling him how it was all worth it even as he was dying and he knows for a fact that Erica appreciated her transformation, but he still regrets dragging any of them into his world.

“Can I come back?” Isaac suddenly trains big pleading eyes on him.

“You want to be in my pack?” Derek has to suppress the immediate warm rush that floods him at the mere thought.

“Can I? I am really, really sorry. I like Scott and his mom is really awesome but I need an alpha who _wants_ to be an alpha.”

“I don’t know. Things are different now. I don’t know how Stiles would feel about you moving back in.” To be honest he really doesn’t want to give up their privacy just yet.

“I was kind of hoping that I could still live with Scott. Does he really need to know?”

“You can only be in one pack, Isaac. Scott will know. He doesn’t have many instincts but he‘ll notice that you’ve switched allegiances.” Derek isn’t sure what to make of the situation. Ordinarily he would never consider someone who changes packs twice. But he knows he wasn’t a very good alpha before and Isaac only did what he was pushed into doing. The bond between a wolf and the alpha who bit him is very strong. He never stopped feeling responsible for Isaac and it works both ways. He just isn’t sure if he has any more to offer now than he had last time around. “Why don’t we run together for a while and you can make a decision then?”

Isaac is beaming so hard that Derek almost expects to end up in an exuberant hug but thankfully the boy refrains. Then he wonders what Stiles will make of this development. It might be best not to tell him for now. All too often Stiles ends up between the lines nowadays. There’s no point in telling him until there’s something substantial to tell.

“Let’s see what you’re made of,” he challenges and sets off at a fast pace.

Isaac whoops in delight as he follows.

 

 

Having Isaac around is a bit like having a puppy – and wouldn’t Stiles just burst out laughing at that analogy? Isaac has always been the keenest of his betas. Boyd was quietly confident, Erica was aggressive but Isaac was eager to learn and to please. He also had more control than the others, making him a pleasure to teach.

Over the next few days the boy makes sure that Derek takes him into the woods whenever he goes for a run. He waits outside the loft some days, on others, when Scott’s not home, he asks Derek to pick him up from there. And he has questions, many, many questions. Since he and Stiles got together, Derek’s resigned himself to the fact that there are always going to be more questions, but Isaac’s questions are of a different kind. Where Stiles wants to know about werewolf lore and whatever else he might need to be prepared for any and all eventualities, Isaac wants him to demonstrate what he can do, how to grow stronger and more agile, how to get better control.

Derek is slowly getting used to having somebody around again who treats him like an alpha, someone who’s pack. He feels more relaxed than he has since Boyd died, stronger and more focused. There’s something about showing a beta the ropes that’s deeply satisfying.

However, after the weekend he has to exert his authority for the first time. “You can’t be here,” he says when he comes out of his building to drive to the preserve and sees Isaac lounging against his car.

“Why not? It’s time for our run. Don’t you want me to come anymore?” Isaac looks devastated.

“I do, but school starts up again today. You can’t skip school for this.”

“But I’m eighteen. I can write my own sick notes.”

“Not the point. Go to school, Isaac. The woods will keep.”

“But school’s pointless. I’m a werewolf. I’m hardly gonna end up in college or with a career.”

“Being a werewolf doesn’t stop you from doing whatever you want if you’re careful. But not if you don’t go to school.”

“But school’s boring and I’m terrible at it.”

Derek growls impatiently, causing Isaac to duck his head and avert his eyes. “Get in the car.” He slides into the driver’s seat and waits for Isaac to get in. “You will go to school. And you will get good grades. And then you’ll decide what you want to do after. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

When they get to the high school, Derek is very aware of the misery radiating off his companion. Before, he wouldn’t have cared. As the alpha, his wishes are paramount and it doesn’t matter what the betas think or want. More importantly there’s also a duty of care he has and in this case his wishes for the boy’s education and the care he owes coincide, even if Isaac may not like it. But apart from that, he no longer wants to impose his will on others no matter the consequences. He wants Isaac to be happy.

In the school parking lot, he gets out of the car and Isaac comes up to him, shuffling his feet with his eyes lowered. “You can come by after school and Stiles can help you with your homework if you’re not doing so well. I won’t train you if you don’t do well at school.”

Isaac brightens up noticeably and nods eagerly. “Can we still run together?”

Derek puts his hand on his neck and shakes him a little, making him beam. “We can. But not during school hours. Get Stiles to give you a ride to the loft after school.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

“Now, get in there and give them a good excuse why you’re late.”

Isaac bounds up the steps and gives a short wave before he disappears through the double doors. Sensing that he’s being watched, Derek looks around uncomfortably but can’t spot anyone. With his luck, one of the teachers saw him and will report him to the cops for unbecoming behavior with a pupil or some shit like that. He gets back into the car and peels out of there before he can get into trouble.

After school, Isaac and Stiles come into the loft together in mid-conversation about Scott’s eating habits. It’s all good-natured and they’re both cackling about something one of them said before they came in. Stiles gives Derek a long look that he can’t decipher before he goes and gets two sodas from the fridge, one for himself and one for Isaac. Derek feels a little uncomfortable like he should have asked Stiles if he wants to bring Isaac here or if he wants Isaac here, period. That’s a conversation they need to have sooner rather than later by the looks of it.

For now, the two teenagers settle at the large table to do their homework. Derek already misses being alone with Stiles, because usually homework comes _after_ the sex – or at least some form of physical contact – and after the drawn-out descriptions of his day. Those are always amusing even when the point is how very _un_ amused Stiles feels about school. But today there isn’t even a _hello-how-are-you_ kiss, which Stiles has never been shy about before.

Stiles seems a little distracted, shooting Derek not so furtive looks, which he studiously ignores, and chewing on his pens. Sometimes Derek wonders how he gets such good grades when he can’t seem to concentrate on his work for more than ten minutes at a time. But then Isaac asks him a question about chemistry and Stiles starts explaining things with astonishing patience even when Isaac doesn’t get it the first time. He’s probably had a lot of practice with Scott on that score.

Later Derek orders pizza. He remembers well enough what Isaac likes because he always orders the exact same thing, but thinks he should ask Stiles what he wants. He’s taken too much for granted today already and Stiles will probably bite his head off if he doesn’t let him make his own decision. As it turns out, Stiles snaps at him anyway, with a very curt, “You know what I like,” that causes Isaac to freeze for a full twenty seconds. Derek doesn’t push the point. He definitely needs to talk with Stiles tonight.

But it isn’t to be. When Derek announces that he’ll take Isaac home now, Stiles offers to do it himself since it’s on his way.

“On your way to where?”

“Home. It’s a school night. You do remember I have a curfew, right?”

Of course Derek remembers that, but it’s not for another two hours and it’s not like Stiles to waste any alone-time with him. “Just wait here. I’ll be ten minutes, fifteen tops.”

Isaac has retreated to the door, looking uncomfortable and trying to pretend that he can’t hear a thing. Derek is torn between feeling sorry for him and wanting to tell him to make his own way. After all there’s no reason why the boy needs to be driven home. But now that he said it, he can’t go back on his word, not with his beta. “Just wait here,” he tries again, softer this time. “I won’t be long.”

He can feel Stiles’s eyes on him but can’t meet them somehow. Stiles doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t feel right but Derek goes to drive Isaac back to the McCalls and is grateful that the boy doesn’t try and talk about what just happened. When he gets back to the loft, it’s empty. It’s not entirely unexpected and hits him like a body blow at the same time. His stomach hollows and there’s a tightness in his chest and something in his throat that tastes like bile. He knows what this is. It’s fear, plain and simple.

Nobody’s ever told Derek how relationships work. He always assumed that he would end up like his parents, blissfully happy in a quiet but nevertheless all-consuming way. But after Paige he knew he would never have that. Everything that came after that had a strange cruel and frightening inevitability to it.

With Stiles everything has seemed easy so far, but the fact remains that he has no idea how to do this. Is he supposed to call Stiles now and ask him what’s going on? Is he supposed to go to him and make him listen? Listen to what even? He doesn’t know what he did wrong, except maybe starting to take care of Isaac without saying anything about it. He was going to. He just didn’t want to put Stiles in a position where he had to keep secrets from his best friend. Was that so wrong? He honestly doesn’t know.

He paces the loft like a caged animal. His phone is in his hand and his fingers keep skimming over the buttons. He wants nothing more than to call. Well, no, what he really wants is see Stiles but the sheriff would never go for that because it’s after midnight now. He would try and climb through the window if he wasn’t so convinced that it will be locked. So, yes, calling… but what if that’s one of Stiles’s weird issues, right up there with, ‘answer my questions, every one of them’ and ‘don’t talk about other people during sex’? What if ‘don’t call me when I’m obviously needing space’ is one of those things? He could make it worse.

What if it is worse _already_?

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**7.**

In the morning, Derek's sitting in his car, waiting nervously, wishing himself a million miles away while being willing to fight anyone to stay right here at the same time. He’s had a shower after a lengthy night run and is watching the sun come up just before the sheriff comes out of the house to leave for his early shift. Hesitating for just a moment, Stilinski ambles over to where Derek’s reluctantly lowering the window.

“Morning. Staking out my house isn’t very subtle, you know. You coming in?”

“I don’t think so.” He wants to, but he’s not sure what kind of reception he would get.

“That bad, eh?” Stilinski winces sympathetically.

Derek shrugs helplessly. He still has no idea what’s going on, other than that he fucked up somehow with only a vague notion what it might be about. “I’ll wait.”

“Okay. He should be out in a bit. A word of advice, son, from a man who had the most wonderful wife and never really understood how. Whatever it is, don’t let it fester. If you don’t get it, ask. And if you do get it, make it go away somehow. Grovel if you must.”

Derek wants to ask how he’s supposed to grovel when he doesn’t know what he should be doing it about. Ask, apparently. He can do that. But what if groveling isn’t enough? He nods nevertheless.

“And a word of advice from a father who happens to be the sheriff in town… Don’t hurt him.” It’s probably coincidence that Stilinski is putting his hand on his weapon to adjust it a little, just as the words are leaving his mouth. Then he smiles, brief but genuine, and taps the roof of the car a few times in lieu of a goodbye. Derek's eyes follow him as he gets into his cruiser and drives away.

It’s nearly an hour before the door to the house opens again. Stiles doesn’t hesitate when he sees his car, which tells him that he spotted him from inside. His hopes that Stiles will come over like he normally would are dashed when there’s just a long look and not even the hint of a smile. When Stiles throws his school stuff on the back seat of the jeep, Derek gets out of his car and just manages to stop him from closing the door after he slipped behind the wheel.

“Hey,” Stiles says in a neutral voice.

“Hey.” And then Derek doesn’t know what else to say and just stares at him. It’s been barely ten hours since he last saw him and he’s keenly aware of how much he missed him. Not so much missed him as such because he’s used to spending weeknights alone while the curfew is in place. It’s more the feeling he missed, the bond they share, the warmth he feels when he thinks of Stiles, the happy anticipation of seeing him again soon. Right now all he feels is dread.

“I’ll be late for school.” Stiles wiggles the jeep door a little to make his point but Derek doesn’t budge.

“We need to talk.” Fuck, that sounds… awful, ominous, final. No conversation that starts with those words has ever gone well in the history of mankind.

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles says resignedly. “I’ll swing by after school.”

Derek doesn’t like the way Stiles doesn’t look at him while he says it. He wants to stand his ground, wants to bring it all out into the open right here, because he can’t stand more hours of worrying and not knowing. But if he forces the issue now, it will be rushed and he might not be able to make his case. He knows better than anyone that words don’t come easy to him. All too often he gets angry before he stops to think. He needs time to do this. In the end he just steps back so Stiles can shut the door and start the car. Stiles looks straight ahead at the garage door for a moment before lowering the window. “Just you and me after school, Derek, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Who the fuck else would be there anyway? This is private, just between the two of them.

Stiles simply nods and drives away.

 

 

There’s no more running that day. He’s too worried that he might miss Stiles. Lessons might finish early or Stiles might decide to skip altogether or the school might burn down or whatever else may conspire against him. It would be just his luck that he’d be out when Stiles turns up and then he might pack his stuff and never speak to him again. He can’t chance it. So he paces for a couple of hours and then forces himself to sit perfectly still for the rest of the time. It’s a good exercise in restraint.

His parents made being together look so easy. He can’t remember a single argument between them, discussions yes, arguments no. Maybe it was because they were both wolves and his mother was also the alpha. Whether his father agreed or not, he always deferred to her decisions. And maybe that’s the whole problem right there, that Stiles isn’t a wolf. He would never defer to Derek unless he’s in complete agreement. Derek being an alpha doesn’t come into it at all.

Deep down Derek knows that he doesn’t want this to be about pack hierarchy. He likes Stiles all feisty and opinionated. He knows from painful experience that his decisions aren’t always the best, so being questioned makes him evaluate them and that can’t be a bad thing. Stiles grounds him in a way no one has ever done before. Most of the time he doesn’t feel challenged so much as cared for by someone who wants him to do the right thing, who takes the time to make sure he makes the right choices, someone who doesn’t have his own agenda. In fact, during his nightlong contemplation of their relationship he realized that when Stiles snapped at him over the pizza yesterday… Derek simply ducked his head. It was instinctive and he didn’t notice it at the time, but he does remember it now. And that means what he’s been suspecting for a while now. Emotionally _he’s_ the beta.

Stiles turns up ten minutes after school lets out, which is the exact time needed to get here. Well, at least he’s not trying to delay or maybe he just wants to get it over with. He walks into the loft much slower than his usual exuberant pace. Derek remains in his seat and watches him. Everything is different today. Instead of the happy smile, there’s a glum look and Stiles’s shoulders are slumped ominously. He radiates misery and anger. Derek loses the last bit of hope he had for this conversation and suddenly has to force himself to not simply walk out to avoid it altogether. He will give this one good shot, the very best he can do.

“Hey,” Stiles finally says, rucking his backpack up a little more instead of putting it down.

“Hey.” Derek’s surprised how strong his voice sounds because inside he’s practically quaking.

There’s a long pause while neither one says anything. He has to fight the urge to roll over, present his belly and just hope it will be enough, but he knows it won’t be. Stiles would never want his surrender.

“You wanted to talk,” Stiles finally says a little exasperatedly. “So talk. Is there something you have to tell me?”

Derek expected it to be the other way around, that Stiles would tell him it was over. All his preparation was focused on finding arguments to persuade him to give them another go. He has no idea what he could or _should_ say now. Then he remembers what the sheriff said to him and gets up to move closer to Stiles so he can look into his eyes, and says as sincerely as he can, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles presses his lips together and looks at him with those big warm eyes that always get to him. They're not so warm today. “And what are you sorry about? Something you’ve done or something you want to do?”

Derek blinks, confused. “Obviously something I’ve done.” Otherwise Stiles wouldn’t be upset, right? It must be something he did.

“And what did you do, Derek?”

“I… don’t know.” Which is the honest truth. He’s so far out of his depth he can’t even see the shoreline anymore.

“You don’t know,” Stiles deadpans.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t. A little help here? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Isaac. I’m sorry I made you give him a ride here yesterday and you ended up tutoring him. I can pay you for doing that if you want. Or we can find someone else. I’m sorry I asked you what you wanted on your pizza. I didn’t want to assume anything. I’m sorry I drove Isaac home instead of talking to you. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I’m sorry I didn’t come over last night to talk it out. I’m sorry…. I can’t think of anything else.”

Stiles stares at him. Then he laughs, but it’s short-lived, just an aborted noise at the back of his throat. “You have _no_ clue why I’m upset, do you?”

Derek shakes his head. “Not really, but I’m sorry.”

“What did my dad say to you this morning?”

“Huh?” Derek feels like his head’s spinning from the unexpected turns this conversation is taking. “He said to find out what’s bothering you. And then… grovel.”

“Well, you got the groveling part down pat. But you seem to have missed out the step before that.”

“ _Stiles_.” Derek can feel his patience waning.

“Okay. I’m not upset about Isaac telling me that I have to give him a ride to the loft because you said. I’m not upset about teaching him because I enjoyed that. And I’m most certainly not upset about pizza toppings. What I am upset about is that you’ve been with Isaac every day since New Year. Or near enough every day as far as I know. And behind my back, too, since the only reason I know this is because Scott told me. I’m upset that when I looked out of the window in Chemistry yesterday, I saw you and Isaac practically cuddling in the school parking lot. And I’m upset that you tell him to get a ride with me but can’t pick up the phone and text me to ask if that’s alright with me, too. And I’m upset that you know what Isaac likes on his pizza but not what I like. So yeah, maybe I _am_ upset about the pizza. What I really want to know is: are you and Isaac having a thing? Because I’m not okay with that, in case you were wondering.”

“Are we having… what?” Derek's not quite sure what Stiles is asking, only that he obviously worked out what’s been going on and is upset that Derek didn’t tell him. Shit. Why can’t he never just stick to the rules? If he just tells Stiles everything, then Stiles is mostly okay. He doesn’t always agree and will argue endlessly, but he won’t get upset. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was going to but I wanted Isaac to be sure.”

“Well, that’s awesome! As long as _Isaac_ is sure. And what did you expect me to do? Did you think I would just sit on the sidelines and watch? Because I won’t. I may be used to sitting on the bench, watching other people play but I’m an only child. I don’t share. Blame my parents for that.”

“But pack’s different from what we have. Are you telling me that if I want to be with you, I can never have a pack?” It feels like a death knell, because Derek doesn’t know if he can live without a pack forever. It’s been too long already. Not to mention, how disappointed he is that Stiles would make such a demand.

Stiles stares at him and just when Derek starts to wonder if this is the end, he asks very slowly, enunciating every word, “Are. You. And. Isaac. In. A. relationship? Not pack, a re- _lation_ -ship.”

“What?”

“For fuck’s sake, Derek, are you two fucking?”

“What? Isaac and I? Of course not. What makes you think that? You think… Isaac and I…. that’s… No! Of course we’re not. He’s in love with Allison. And I… I’m with you, Stiles. You’re my mate. That’s never going to change. For me, that’s for life.”

Stiles softens instantly, some of the tension draining away but not all of it. “But the Curnocks said you should be with another wolf, whether you have feelings for them or not, so it doesn’t seem like werewolves take this mating thing seriously. It’s a formality, right?”

“It’s _not_ a formality. The Curnocks don’t know shit.”

“But when you claimed me at the parley, you didn’t mean anything by it. You just wanted to keep Beacon Hills. You said so yourself.”

“Maybe. But when we mated, it was different. Remember how we swore an oath right over there?” He gestures vaguely towards the bed without taking his eyes off Stiles. “Remember the words and the blood and the marking, inside and out? That meant something. To me anyway.”

Stiles is smiling softly now. “Me, too.”

“Isaac wants to come back, to me, to the pack, I mean. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to have to keep secrets from Scott. I’m not having a relationship with Isaac. Or a thing. The only person I am having a _thing_ with is you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about Isaac?”

“Because Isaac doesn’t want Scott to know. I didn’t want you to have to hide anything from your best friend. He would know. You can’t lie to him. And you shouldn’t have to.”

“Well, he knows _something’s_ up. Only he thinks you’re sleeping with Isaac or wanting to and he can’t make up his mind whether he’s more pissed off with Isaac for cheating on Allison or with you for cheating on me.”

“I’m sure he’ll find a way to put all the blame on me,” Derek mutters to himself.

Stiles steps closer and cups his cheek with one hand as if he needs consoling about that. Derek doesn’t care what the reason is. He thought Stiles might never touch him again, so he unashamedly leans into the connection, closing his eyes and just breathing. There’s a slight thud as Stiles’s bag hits the floor and then he’s flush against Derek's body with both arms around his neck. Derek buries his face in the crook of his shoulder and concentrates on not letting his knees buckle in relief.

“I love you. Don’t scare me like that again,” Stiles whispers.

“I won’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I…” Derek stops when Stiles kisses him. Sometimes he really wants to tell Stiles how he feels about him, how much he means to him but Stiles never wants to hear it and Derek thinks that’s fair enough. Nobody wants to be overwhelmed with that much desperation. He can rein it in for Stiles. There’ll be time enough to let his emotions run riot when this is all over.

“Don’t shut me out again, Derek,” Stiles says eventually. “I can’t stand it. And I won’t.”

“I won’t,” Derek promises.

“Good. Now explain to me how having a beta will work. Is he moving in here?”

“Not unless Scott kicks him out. I think he’s rather fond of Melissa. We’ll just be running together and training and I’ll be responsible for him again. Unfortunately it will eat into our time together because he’s at school the same time as you are, so we need to run after school. But it needn’t be more than an hour or so a day.”

“Okay. I could spend more time with Scott. That’ll be cool.”

Derek hesitates a little before he continues. “You’ll be kind of responsible for him, too. As my mate, you know. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Only, I can’t allow him not to show you proper respect.”

“Respect?” Stiles snorts. “Awesome. Just don’t expect me to suckle him anytime soon or, you know, like, _ever_.”

Derek smiles half-heartedly. “Nothing needs to change between you but if Isaac is part of my pack, you need to accept him.”

“I’ve got nothing against Isaac,” Stiles shrugs.

It’ll have to do. Derek can’t expect Stiles to take on the full role of alpha’s mate if he doesn’t want to. It’s quite a commitment and a lifelong one to boot. And Stiles would have to commit to Derek first for that to become relevant.

 

 

The next weekend Derek and Isaac are running in the preserve again. Derek's getting to the more remote areas now that he doesn’t often run. The vegetation is a little denser here but still easy to traverse if you’re a werewolf and don’t mind uneven terrain. They’ve traveled up a steady incline and are resting on a tree trunk in a clearing that’s overlooking Beacon Hills. Derek is quite pleased with Isaac’s progress, which has come along nicely since they’ve started. With his stamina improved they’ll be able to start on strength soon and then the real fun will begin – sparring.

“Is Stiles okay with all of this?” Isaac asks after a while, not looking up.

“He is now.”

“He’s not a werewolf.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

Isaac smiles uncertainly. “I mean, he’s your mate but not a werewolf. What should I do?”

“You treat him with the same respect you treat me.”

“Like he’s my alpha, too?”

“Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“But he’s… _Stiles._ ”

Derek raises his eyebrows in a question that’s also a clear warning.

Isaac ducks his head a little. “He’s always just been this dorky kid, you know. Before all this happened I didn’t have much to do with him. But not many people take him seriously.”

Derek feels instantly aggrieved at the thought of that although it’s hardly Isaac’s fault. The idea that people don’t appreciate Stiles enough doesn’t sit well with him at the best of times. “Well, _you_ will take him seriously from now on, understood? _Very_ seriously. And you will defend him if there’s any trouble.”

Isaac nods solemnly at Derek's harsh tone. “Okay, no problem.”

“Good. Now let’s go back down.”

It’s exhilarating to run downhill, crashing through bushes and jumping small brooks in single leaps. Isaac is grinning broadly and half-shifted. It’s when they’re crossing a small clearing that it happens. Isaac seems to stumble, but then he’s suddenly flying through the air, in the opposite direction from where he was running. If he’d simply fallen, even at high speed, his momentum should have carried him on downhill but he’s flung a good few yards _up_ hill.

Derek comes to a skidding stop and turns back to Isaac’s motionless form. He hunkers down to feel his pulse, which is steady under his fingers and watches incredulously as a dark shape emerges from the spot where Isaac faltered. It appears to be fluid at first, but viscous, like thick oil but it quickly takes the shape and form of Isaac like a perfect replica down to every piece of clothing and the slight cowlick he’s sporting today.

Derek stands up to face it. If he didn’t have the real Isaac at his feet, he wouldn’t have any doubt that the replica is genuine. Before he can take a step towards it, it shifts again and this time it re-emerges as… Allison, wearing a short summer dress and no shoes. Derek growls low in his throat and steps over Isaac so that he’s between him and the creature.

Fake-Allison looks at him and smiles like real-Allison never would, at least not at him. He takes another step forward, shifting completely and attacking almost before he’s done. His claws slice effortlessly through the throat and along the torso and he thinks how it’s a good thing that he doesn’t like Allison all that much but it feels very wrong all the same. As soon as he makes contact with the creature, a few things happen at once. He feels himself repelled somehow as if he’s hit mountain ash or a force field albeit one he can penetrate if he tries hard enough. The creature gives a high-pitched shriek that shatters the quiet of the forest for miles around. It withdraws a little, forming a vaguely human-shaped mass for a few seconds, before re-shaping itself into a new form. Derek stares incredulously at Stiles as he smiles a slightly lob-sided smile at him.

He shrinks back just far enough to shield Isaac but unable to advance again. He has no idea what this is or how to fight it and somehow he can’t bring himself to attack something that looks so eerily like Stiles. For some moments they face each other across the space between them.

“What are you?” he grits out.

The creature tilts Stiles’s head as if it’s listening and then somehow slithers away into the ground from where it emerged. Derek steps backwards over Isaac without taking his eyes off the spot where it disappeared and hunkers down, shaking the boy a little. When that doesn’t elicit a reaction, he gives him a cursory examination, but Isaac appears to be unconscious still.

Warily Derek approaches the spot where the creature was and, as he suspected, the soil there feels just like the patch he found before. What the hell _was_ that? There are a few drops of the black substance left on the ground. It stings Derek's fingers when he touches it. As he doesn’t have anything else to carry it in, he grabs a large leaf from a nearby tree, scoops up the drops and folds it to store it carefully in his pocket. Then he lifts up Isaac, slings him over his shoulder and starts running back to his car.

It takes him thirty minutes to reach the vehicle but when he straps him into the seat, Isaac comes suddenly awake with a start.

“What happened?”

“There was a creature in the woods. It knocked you out.”

“I don’t remember much, just this feeling of… wrongness. Is that what that patch in the woods felt like for you before?”

“Yeah.”

He drives back to the loft because he wants to keep an eye on Isaac. There’s no telling what after-effects there are going to be and Isaac does appear a little weak on the way upstairs.

It’s the weekend, so Stiles is there, luckily already out of bed and showered. He takes one look at Isaac, before guiding him to the couch and draping a blanket over him. Then he disappears into the kitchen for a while, returning a few minutes later with a mug of hot chocolate, topped with those little marshmallows that Derek pretends to hate because of their excessive cuteness factor, but seems to always keep in stock anyway. He watches as Stiles makes sure that the mug is secure in Isaac’s hands, warming them as they’re wrapped around it, and he wants this to be his reality. He wants his life to contain Stiles, just being who he is, by his side, helping him lead his pack. Together. Forever.

“So, are you gonna fill me in?” Stiles asks.

Derek does, trying to keep his voice steady so it won’t betray how much this situation is affecting him. This is the first time in what feels like an eternity that he isn’t alone facing a problem.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “So we’re obviously dealing with some kind of shapeshifter. Only this one can shift into anything and anyone it likes. One question is how? I mean, if it has to do with that patch we looked at before, then maybe it just needs to come into contact with a person or a person needs to walk over the patch for it to mimic them. Only, Allison wasn’t actually there that morning, was she? So how did it know how to copy _her_? Which brings me to my second question: why?”

He’s right, of course. Allison didn’t turn up until they all got to the diner. Although it’s possible that either Isaac or Scott may have taken her into the woods at some stage afterwards because both of them set much stock by her opinion. However, Isaac just shakes his head when Derek asks him, his eyes drooping tiredly again. Stiles is already on his cellphone to ask Scott about it and to fill him in about what happened, shaking his head at Derek during the conversation to indicate that Scott didn’t take Allison into the woods either. When he’s finished, Derek takes the leaf with the black substance from his pocket and shows it to him. After getting a glass from the kitchen, Stiles makes Derek panic for a few moments when he uses his finger to wipe the substance from the leaf into the glass.

“Are you crazy? That thing threw Isaac halfway across the clearing. There’s no telling what it might do to a human.”

Stiles shrugs. “Nothing, apparently. I can’t feel anything. Do I look different? I look different, don’t I? Have I turned blue? Oh my God, I’m blue, aren’t I? Whatever am I going to do?”

As so many times before, Derek doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by Stiles’s antics. Then he smiles, relieved that nothing happened. “You’d be beautiful even if you _were_ blue.”

Stiles freezes and Derek curses himself. Too far. Too much. Too honest. He promised himself he would never put pressure on Stiles by getting too heavy with his emotions. Usually he does a good job of hiding them, but sometimes when he’s in the moment, he forgets.

Stiles tilts his head a little and smiles. “Really?”

Derek can’t help but return that smile. Then he rallies himself. “Yeah, I always loved the Smurfs.”

Stiles snorts indelicately. “I was thinking more along the lines of Mystique, but you’re probably right, if I ever turn into something, it would probably be into something diminutive with no powers at all.”

“Everybody loves the Smurfs, Stiles,” Derek says quietly.

“Yeah.” Stiles’s smile is genuine now and he launches into a five-minute monologue extolling the virtues and foibles of the different Smurfs. Derek listens to him, trying to pretend that he thinks Stiles is being silly rather than fascinatingly charming.

Isaac’s been dozing for about half an hour when Scott arrives. He has Allison with him, who perches on the edge of the couch fussing over Isaac, much to Scott’s displeasure. “So what were you two doing in the woods in the first place?”

Derek shrugs, unwilling to be interrogated, then relents slightly at Stiles’s entreating look. “We were running. I’ve enlisted Isaac to help me search for more of those spots.”

“Really? And how would he do that if he can’t feel them?” Trust Scott to get observant at the most inopportune moment.

Derek looks at Isaac, who looks back unhappily. Suddenly he’s had enough of this whole charade. “Isaac and I have been running together since New Year. And before you jump to the wrong conclusion, it’s because Isaac wants more training and I’m providing it.”

“I’m his alpha.”

“Actually, you’re not. You kindly provided Isaac with a place to stay when he had nowhere to go. But I’m the one who turned him. I’m responsible for him.”

Scott glares at Isaac. “You’re going back to him?”

Isaac shrugs. “You never want to do anything. And even if you did, you’re new to all of this. Derek has answers.”

“Yeah, _violent_ ones.”

“Werewolf ones,” Isaac says heatedly. “I _like_ being a werewolf, Scott. You don’t. You always make me feel like there’s something wrong with me.”

Scott’s look clearly says that the reason for that is because there _is_ something wrong with him, with all of them and Derek realizes that Scott still hates what he’s become and is taking it out on everyone around him. Derek can certainly relate to self-loathing and the effect that has on someone’s relationships. What he can’t subscribe to is the basic idea that being a werewolf is somehow wrong.

“If you guys could stop this pissing contest and concentrate on the problem at hand, please,” Allison says coldly.

All three werewolves bristle at that. Derek thinks it’s grossly unfair since he’s only telling the truth and in general objects to being told what to do – in his own home and by an Argent of all people. Then he looks at Stiles, who seems upset, like he’s most of the time when Derek and Scott are in the same room with him. His stomach contracts when he realizes he’s contributing to Stiles’s misery.

“Have you been in the woods recently?” he asks Allison in as neutral a voice as he can.

She shakes her head.

“Then how does this thing know what you look like?” Stiles asks reasonably.

“I don’t know.”

“I suggest we all go out there and see if we can beat it,” Derek says. The idea that there’s something lurking in _his_ woods won’t let him rest until he’s got rid of it.

“Because that always works so well for us, running towards danger without a plan,” Stiles argues, looking worried and a little apologetic.

Derek doesn’t mind. Stiles tends to vacillate between being somewhat cautious and wanting to go in with guns blazing. He always gets careful when he’s worried his friends might get hurt and his ideas have proven useful on more than one occasion. He nods. “How much time do you need for research?”

Stiles beams at him with obvious relief. “I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure how to look this up. It’s not as if I haven’t been trying already.”

“I can take the goo to Deaton,” Scott volunteers, pointing towards the black substance in the glass.

Derek takes another look at Stiles and refrains from wishing Scott a sardonic ‘good luck with that’ and instead goes with, “Good idea.”

Scott leaves soon after, followed by Allison, who’s taking Isaac home with her. Stiles is already hunched over his laptop, which feels pleasantly familiar to Derek, who settles down to read a book about ancient mythology. He would much rather be out there, hunting the shapeshifter, but he can refrain if it means they have a better chance of defeating it. At the moment his efforts don’t seem to do much damage, not to mention that he only ever seems to be able to find it by chance.

He watches Stiles chew on a pen as he’s surfing on his computer. A few times over the last few weeks Derek has looked over his shoulder to see what he’s doing when he does research. But it’s so erratic that he appears to be jumping from site to site with no natural progression and he reads a lot faster than Derek, so he leaves him to it. One thing is certain, if the thing keeps shifting into Stiles, Derek will have a hard time even attacking it. The very idea of hurting Stiles is abhorrent to him. And it looked so life-like, every detail of Stiles was there, every mole in the right place.

He wonders how that works. When Derek shifts he basically just lets his wolf run free and the wolf is always just under his skin, clammering to get out the closer the full moon is. But that’s just the two sides of him and in neither form can he manipulate his actual appearance at will. This creature obviously can and to a frightening degree.

Why would it turn into Allison though? It makes no sense. It’s never seen Allison, so the source of its knowledge must come from somewhere else. And why did it turn into Stiles of all people? What was the point? Unless it was hoping for the exact result it got, Derek being reluctant to attack _because_ it looked like Stiles? That wouldn’t work with Allison unless… “It’s mimicking people it knows we have a connection with. To slow us down. It looked like Allison after it touched Isaac because she’s important to him. And then it made itself look like you after I attacked it. When it touches someone, it somehow reads that person. It turned into Allison because it expected Isaac to fight it and Allison is the most important person in Isaac’s life right now. Then it touched me and changed into you because it knew that Allison wouldn’t stop me.”

Stiles looks at him. “That makes a frightening amount of sense actually. And it would explain how it knew how to mimic Allison. When it touched you, it realized that you wouldn’t care about Allison and picked me.” He tilts his head a little and smiles softly. “Does that mean I’m important to you?”

“Are you kidding me?” Derek is almost annoyed that he’s even asking. “No, Stiles, I don’t give two hoots about you.”

Stiles grins, picking up on his sardonic tone. “Ah, but that means you give _one_ hoot about me. Don’t deny it.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Come here.”

As if he’s been waiting for this very suggestion, Stiles gets up immediately and comes over to straddle Derek's lap. Nor does he hesitate a single moment before kissing him. It’s their first kiss of the day and that’s always special to Derek. It re-affirms that nothing’s changed between them, they’re still together, still in love, have more time. He needs that reassurance because he can’t shift the expectation that it will all suddenly end one day. It happened to him before with every relationship he’s had and not once did he see it coming.

“You left before I woke up,” Stiles says quietly.

“Yeah, I wanted to go for a run. Next time I’ll leave you a note.”

Stiles wiggles his hips a little, pressing his bottom into Derek's crotch. “Not exactly what I was getting at.”

Derek takes a deep breath and wonders why things being so easy between them scares him so much. Maybe it doesn’t mean that much, maybe being physically compatible means nothing at all. That thought scares him even more. However, there are other things that are more immediately and understandably alarming. “Can you not go into the woods while that thing’s in there?”

Stiles’s head comes up from nuzzling his neck to look at him incredulously. “Are _you_ going to stay out of it as well?”

“Stiles.”

“No. You don’t get to _Stiles_ me. No way. Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy getting hurt. So if I do, it’s because I’m in a place where I need to be. For whatever reason. Usually because my friends need to be there. And that’s _my_ decision. You don’t get to bench me every time something comes up. I’m benched enough in my life.”

“I’m not benching you. I’m just…” Derek would feel so much better if he knew that Stiles was safe – all the time. He can’t bear the thought of losing him and that creature in the woods is powerful and seemingly invulnerable. “The wolf in me needs to protect you at all costs. You’re my mate.”

Stiles scrambles off his lap and Derek has to force himself not to keep him there with his superior strength. Then Stiles is looking down on him, breathing hard, anger radiating off him. “You don’t get to do _that_ either. You don’t get to pull the wolf card. You’ve been a wolf all your life. Own it and take responsibility for it. You don’t get to use it as an excuse if you fuck up or as a special dispensation to get what you want. It doesn’t work that way. I don’t get to use my ADHD that way either or my age.”

Derek is immediately almost paralyzed with fear. His heart's thumping painfully and his throat seizes up. He looks up at Stiles, hoping that he'll be able to get the words out to defend himself or plead in case Stiles wants to fight or leave, but then he realizes that this isn’t an argument, it’s a negotiation. Stiles is drawing lines in the sand, boundaries he wants them to observe and while he may be a little angry, it doesn’t mean that he’s finished with Derek. It means that he’s working on what they have, not to get his own way or to take advantage but to make it work. Derek lowers his eyes because he can’t let Stiles see how much he loves him right now. So he just tugs on the hem of his shirt a little and Stiles climbs back into his lap with a sigh.

Everything in him, all his emotions and all the words he never gets to say, are trying to push out. He doesn’t blame Stiles at all. At seventeen he just wants to have one uncomplicated thing in an otherwise very complicated life. He doesn’t want to deal with how fucked-up Derek is or how desperate. And even though he must have known that before they started, Derek doesn’t take that as permission to expect Stiles to fix him. The strange thing is that Stiles probably could.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

**8.**

 

In the beginning, when they were starting out, Derek was convinced that it would all fade soon enough. Stiles, like most teenage boys, is mad about sex. When they’re alone it’s usually the first thing they do and then again just before Stiles has to leave. How many times they manage in between those two fixed points depends on how much time they have and what else they’re having planned. Several times a day on weekends isn’t unusual. There’s no ‘fucked out’ for either of them because neither has any significant refraction period, Stiles because of his age and Derek because he’s a werewolf.

That hasn’t really changed. There’s as much sex now as there was in the beginning. Often it’s just handjobs or blowjobs and as long as they’re both satisfied, it’s all good. Naturally, Derek never initiates anything on principle. The most he ever does is casually ask if Stiles wants to have sex in a tone that makes it appear that he doesn’t mind one way or the other. Because there mustn’t be any pressure on Stiles – _ever_. Derek certainly always reacts happily to the slightest hint of intent from Stiles but if his caresses aren’t met with a clear sign from him, preferably verbal, then he’s happy to leave it. It gives him a chance to get what he craves besides the obvious: contact, as much and as close as he can possibly get. He feels like such a fraud sometimes, like he’s deceiving Stiles because what he really wants is for Stiles to touch him – all the time.

As with any other part of his life, Stiles likes to use his hands and his mouth. He likes to explore Derek’s body by kissing, licking and sucking and his hands sear fire into Derek's skin when they’re slowly mapping every inch of it. He’s also relentless. There is no end in sight no matter how many times he goes over the same ground. There are parts of Derek's body that are more sensitive, obviously, but he just likes Stiles touching him, the how and where and why are immaterial.

After their almost-fight about not going into the woods on Saturday, they have a long, drawn-out session of unhurried sex that lasts the rest of the day or rather several sessions seamlessly running into each other. Stiles is in a strange mood and when he asks if they can just stay in bed all weekend, Derek acquiesces happily. He’s convinced he could spend the rest of his life just sharing a space with Stiles, with or without sex, and never get bored. In fact, he can’t imagine anything he wants more.

On Sunday afternoon, Derek is lying sideways on the bed with his head in Stiles’s boxer-clad lap, drawing idle patterns on his naked thigh with his forefinger and wondering if and when this will ever wane. Stiles has set up his laptop to display a mostly ignored background of music videos and is playing with Derek’s hair, only occasionally withdrawing his hand to turn the page of the book he’s reading, a loan from Chris Argent. They’ve been having sex on and off all weekend and haven’t left the bed much, just as Stiles requested. They also didn’t get much research done.

Derek wonders if he’s gone soft. Before he succumbed to Stiles’s persuasive talents, he would never have let something like the creature in the woods be – not even for a day or two – so he could have sex and lounge about. But he can’t help feeling too languid to stop. It worries him. As a werewolf, he can’t afford to let his guard down, especially not when there’s a group of wolves out there, watching and waiting for him to ‘clear up his town’ as well as a creature of unknown origin and intent. But what worries him more than those very real threats is how much he yearns for this. It’s been months now and this need he has to be close to Stiles, to touch and be touched, isn’t diminishing in the slightest. If anything, it’s getting worse. Luckily Stiles’s appetite for all things physical hasn’t lessened either.

“Watch it,” Stiles murmurs warningly as Derek lightly scrapes a nail on the inside of his thigh, from the knee up to just under the fabric of his boxers. Then there’s a corresponding twitch of his cock against Derek's cheek. Derek smiles and does it again. He loves coaxing responses out of Stiles. It’s great fun finding all the things that turn him on, although like so many times before, this one was incidental. It’s not that Derek doesn’t know that any touch in that location will elicit a physical response, he just wasn’t thinking about it at the time. He just wanted to touch, like always.

On the third stroke, Stiles shudders a little and is definitely getting hard now.

“Stop it,” he hisses in mock exasperation. “I feel bad if I don’t do at least a little research this weekend. Scott will kill me if I tell him that I just had sex instead.”

Derek doesn’t care much what Scott thinks but plays along. “That’s only because he’s not getting laid anymore.” It’s true. When he was with Alison, Scott reeked of her and sex most of the time. But because of their different situations, Stiles has probably already had three times as much sex as his friend ever had if not more. Not to mention that Scott and Kira aren’t having any at all. Derek would know.

It’s different with two guys. The urge to have sex is more immediate and there’s more of it, sometimes it’s quite rough, too, like he can’t imagine ever being with a female unless she’s a wolf. As it is, he’s always very much aware of how fragile Stiles is, despite being very much male. But even during their more… vigorous fucking, it’s all about the touching for Derek. _Is_ he deceiving Stiles? Is _‘I’m having so much sex with you not only because you turn me on all the time but also because I just want to be close to you’_ a betrayal of sorts? Does Stiles have a right to know? Is pretending to be _less_ in love and _less_ desperate for him than he actually is just as bad as feigning to be in love when you’re not, like Kate did?

He has no answers and he daren’t ask. He needs this. Just for a little while longer. Just until the urgency has passed. He has no idea how long that’ll take. He’d have thought it would have faded by now. But it doesn’t, not at all. He just hopes that it’ll be gone by the time Stiles will inevitably leave. If he’s lucky, Stiles will stick around until he goes to college in a few months time. Surely Derek will have learned to live without it by then. At least he sincerely hopes so.

Behind his head he can hear Stiles snap the book shut and drop it on the bedside table dramatically. Then he yanks up Derek's head by his hair in a move that has just enough force to feel rough but stops short of any real pain. “What did I just say?”

Derek removes his hand from Stiles’s thigh so he can pounce on him. Stiles’s delighted laughter makes him almost giddy with joy. _Yes, just a little longer._

 

 

He goes out to the house on Monday, pretending to himself that it’s not really ‘going into the woods’. Naturally, Stiles won’t see it that way. Stiles likes to bend the truth – a lot. He’s mastered the art of telling truths that are only technically true because he’s surrounded by creatures who can spot it when he lies. It’s a way of life for him and he’s not fooling anyone. In a sense, telling half-truths in a way that can be spotted a mile away is just as effective because usually people are either too amused or too exasperated to follow it up. But he has different rules for Derek than he has for any of his friends or even his father. Stiles insists on complete honesty between them and that includes ‘the spirit of things’.

In general Derek doesn’t have an awful lot of rules. Coming from a werewolf family, he always tells the truth from habit. He’s actually a terrible liar, possibly worse than Stiles, but not striving to be popular means that he rarely has to try. Other than that his rules only apply to himself. Be alert at all times. Trust no one. When he’s in a relationship, he’s attentive and affectionate by nature, which goes a long way to explain why he’s never been with a guy before. Luckily Stiles is the same to some extent. But with Stiles Derek has developed a new rule of his own: Stiles always comes first – in any situation. In a crowded room, Derek would always seek him out first. He needs to be protected at all costs. He needs to be cared for and happy before all else. That was never as pronounced with anyone he’s ever been with as it is now.

He knows that Stiles won’t be happy when he finds out that Derek’s here. But he hasn’t made any promises to the contrary and this is werewolf business, even Hale business, so his biggest worry about this is that Stiles will take it as license to do the same. He certainly won’t volunteer the information that he’s been at the house, but when he gets there, he knows immediately that he won’t be able to keep it to himself.

As he stops the car, he can scent that there’s something wrong. In the silence after the engine noise has faded to nothing, he listens intently for heartbeats, but there aren’t any. He’s alone and he doesn’t feel watched, so he gets out of the car and moves carefully to the house, which smells of other wolves again. Why does everyone always think his house is free territory? He knows it’s Hank and those two betas he had with him, but the scent is nearly a day old. Crossing his living room and kitchen, he takes a look out the back and sees a body not ten yards from the back door, where the old porch used to be. At least they had the courtesy not to drop it in the house.

Derek flips open his phone and calls Stilinski, marveling for a moment that he now has _the sheriff_ in his contact list. He tells him what he’s found and promises not to touch anything unduly. It’s not necessary. The guy is very much dead and has been for a day, maybe two. He can smell the vile stench of decay as well as the blood from the shattered skull and the long slashes over the body.

After giving the sheriff a ten minute head start, he gets the number for the Argents from the operator. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Chris Argent is home.

“This is Derek Hale. You need to come out to my house in the preserve. There’s been a death.”

Argent is still asking indignant questions when Derek simply hangs up. He knows Argent will come because it’s what he himself would do and in some respects he and the hunter are very much alike.

Stilinski arrives first, with two squad cars and a crime investigation van trailing a little behind. Derek nods towards the back and goes to sit on his front porch. He’s tired of the amount of times this place has been turned into a crime scene. It’s like this spot is a magnet for enemies to defile and send messages of the non-verbal kind.

A few minutes later, he watches Argent drive up the path and look at the police presence from the safety of his car for a while. Then he strolls over to Derek with much less caution than he would if the two of them were alone. “One of ours?” he asks, meaning something supernatural, something that might need covering up.

“One of yours,” Derek says and waits until Argent realizes that there’s more to it than he’s anticipated and gives Derek his complete attention. “It’s Gerard.” He won’t pretend that he’s sorry, but he does acknowledge to himself that Argent might feel differently about this.

There’s not much of a reaction, just a narrowing of those steely blue eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“And why is he here?”

“No idea. It looks like the other killings. Head caved in, slashes over his body.”

“So it was one of you?”

“Not sure. We don’t ordinarily bother with smashing skulls.”

“And we don’t slash our victims,” Argent says heatedly.

“No, you cut them in half. Or shoot them. Fire arrows into them. Or… simply lock them in a house and burn them to death.”

They have a staring contest for a full minute until Argent has the decency to lower his eyes, possibly because of where they are. After a while he clears his throat just as the sheriff rounds the corner of the house.

“What are you doing here, Chris?” he asks, frowning.

“Derek called me.”

Stilinski looks at Derek for confirmation, then with some reproach.

“It’s his father,” Derek says. “Plus none of us think that this was anything other than a werewolf or something else. So we might as well get ahead of this thing from the start.” He also didn’t want Argent to go on a revenge hunt on his own when he finds out because that would have inevitably brought him to Derek's door and since Stiles is there more often than not, he likes to avoid confrontations there.

“Well, would you two like to come and have a proper look? Maybe you’ll find something we can’t.”

They follow the sheriff to the body, which has now been covered and is surrounded by a small amount of numbered yellow markers for evidence purposes. There’s yellow tape cordoning off a large area. Argent moves forward and a man in a white body suit lifts the cloth over the body for him when the sheriff nods his consent. Argent hunkers for a while without touching before getting up again. Derek waits until he does, then steps closer to look at the wounds properly, but steps back immediately. All eyes turn to him at his jerky movement.

“I don’t like blood,” Derek mutters for the benefit of anyone who’s not in the know and gently moves forward before recoiling again, this time less obviously. He circumvents the body and nears it from the other side. The slashes do indeed look like they were caused by werewolf claws and the head wound could have been done by any blunt instrument, even a rock.

He stretches out his hand but the guy in white tells him not to touch, which is immediately overruled by the sheriff. Derek only requires the briefest of contacts. Then he withdraws. Stilinski herds both him and Argent back to the front of the house.

“Well?”

“Looks like werewolves to me,” Argent says, glaring at Derek.

“And who’s your prime suspect?” Derek asks sardonically. “Me? Scott? Isaac? Gerard was in a home for months. If we wanted to harm him, we could have done it any time. Why now? And why dump him here where it raises suspicion?”

“I agree with Derek,” Stilinski says. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, you would, wouldn’t you?” Argent snarls.

The sheriff gives him a cold stare. “Go home, Chris. Leave this to us.”

Argent doesn’t seem happy about this, but at least he makes his way back to his car and drives off.

“You think he’ll make trouble?”

Derek shrugs. “As far as I know he wasn’t too fond of his father anymore. I’m sure it’ll be fine once he’s over the shock.”

“Okay. You’ll need to come to the station and make a statement. Tomorrow will do. This will be a crime scene for a few days, so I’d like you to stay away. But first tell me what you sensed out back. Because I know there was something.”

Derek tells him about the ‘evil earth entity’ – _“Stiles’s name for it?” the sheriff asks, rolling his eyes_ – and the altercation they had. “Gerard feels the same,” he says. “And the wounds on his body. That thing did this. No doubt about it.”

“And what is it exactly?”

“I don’t even have a vague idea, never mind an exact one.”

“Tell me you guys aren’t hunting it!” His worry for Stiles is practically radiating off him.

“Not really. I tried to track it before. But there’s no scent and that was before Isaac and I got into a fight with it.”

“So we need to spread the word that there’s a mountain lion or something. To stop people going into the woods.”

“You can try that. But there’s only so many times that’ll work. Don’t you think it’s weird that it only kills hunters?”

“Yeah, that _is_ strange. When you come to the station tomorrow, I’ll take you to the morgue, so you can look at the other bodies. Or rather touch them.”

“Okay. Will do.”

 

 

“Allison got pulled out of class today,” Stiles says as soon as he enters the loft. “I’ll have to call Scott later to see what that was all about.”

Derek walks up to him and kisses him long and deep.

When they pull away, Stiles is grinning broadly. “Hey.”

“Hey. Her grandfather died.”

The jump in focus seems to utterly confuse Stiles for a moment. “What? You mean Gerard? He’s dead?”

“Yeah. Someone dumped him behind the old house.”

“ _Your_ house? Holy shit! I need to call my dad to see what’s going on. Or do some snooping when I get home. Who do you think did it?”

“Our good friend Triple E.”

“Triple E? The Evil Earth Entity? Hey! That’s a way cooler name for it. No fair! It’s my job to come up with the cool names. Why didn’t I think of that?” Within the group, Stiles has claimed certain roles for himself to compensate for being human. He’s the researcher, which is something he does better than anyone, even Lydia, mainly due to a vast background knowledge he accumulated long before he even knew about werewolves. He knows a little bit about most things. Another thing he does is planning. As he can’t contribute much to keeping his friends safe physically, he likes to do it by minimizing the danger in the first place. It was one of the reasons he was so hurt when Scott rejected his support and went with Deucalion instead. He also likes to come up with cool and funny names for things and people.

“You did give it the name. I just shortened it.”

“So who found the body?”

“I did.”

There’s a pause while Stiles looks at him with deep disappointment. “I thought we agreed not to go out into the woods before we know what we’re dealing with?”

In his head Derek has a number of excuses. He wasn’t in the woods, he was at his house. He could claim that he wanted to do some building work and yet he knows that if he hadn’t found Gerard, he would have gone further into the preserve. It’s just that he thought he wouldn’t get caught. But he promised himself that he would never outright lie to Stiles. “We can’t just leave that thing roaming the woods, Stiles.”

“We also have no idea how to defeat it. So what if you’d found it instead of a dead body? Would you be the dead body then? I don’t… I can’t…” He takes a few steps away and then turns back to him, looking helpless. “Don’t leave me behind, Derek.”

Derek moves closer and puts his hand on Stiles’s neck, cupping it and tugging gently. “I was perfectly safe. I promise you I’ll be careful.”

Stiles allows himself to be pulled into an embrace but Derek can’t shake the feeling that he’s missed the point.

 

 

The next day Derek arrives at the police station just before lunch to find Stilinski out on a job. He feels a little uneasy without the sheriff around because he’s been interrogated in this place in the past and he’s sure he isn’t the only one remembering that. But there’s a young deputy near his own age whom Derek’s never seen before, either at the station or around town, who drives him over to the hospital morgue, which has a part in the back that doubles as the coroner’s lab.

The deputy is pleasant to be around with an inoffensive charm and a ready smile. He almost seems too nice to be a police officer. Introducing himself as Deputy Parrish, he tells Derek that the sheriff asked him to show him the old bodies and pretends to be entirely uncurious as to why.

Derek just needs a moment to touch the bodies of the two hunters he’s met before to confirm his suspicions. If Parrish finds it strange that he’s accompanying a civilian to the morgue so that he can lay a hand on two weeks-old corpses, he doesn’t say. He does seem to observe rather closely though. Derek likes people who keep their own council. Still, he puts on a bit of a show of looking at different aspects of the bodies just to be on the safe side.

When they return to the police station, Stilinski has arrived and ushers Derek into his office with a quick thanks to Parrish.

“So, what do you think?” he asks, making an inviting gesture towards his desk.

“Definitely Triple E,” Derek confirms. He sits down and starts writing out a statement, under the guidance of the sheriff. He mentions how he found the body and that he knows of Gerard, but never met him personally. Stilinski also tells him not to mention Kate, so that he won’t become a suspect because he has motive. Then Derek tells the sheriff everything he knows about Gerard.

“Goddammit, that goddamned kid!” Stilinski paces a few angry steps back and forth in the confines of his office. “He told me he was beaten up by the other lacrosse team for mouthing off. How am I supposed to protect him when he keeps lying to me?”

“You didn’t know about what was going on at the time,” Derek says mildly. “Stiles was just trying to protect you. I don’t think he can imagine anything worse than losing you.”

“Yeah, well. _I’m_ supposed to protect _him_.” The _wait-until-he-gets-home_ is heavily implied. Derek winces and hopes he didn’t get Stiles into too much trouble.

Afterwards they take a ride out to the nursing home. It’s strange to sit in the front of the cruiser. He only did that once before, when the old sheriff picked him up from school on the day of the fire. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t remember much of that particular ride, just a burly old man who kept telling him that he’d be okay.

“What happened to Sheriff Baker?”

“Retired five years ago. Died the following year. Heart attack.”

No wonder Stiles is so obsessed with his father’s health.

At the home they round the building and walk to the bottom of the park where an area is cordoned off with yellow police tape. There’s an overturned wheelchair within that area as well as a large dark patch of what Derek’s nose tells him is blood.

“They found it this morning. They didn’t notice Gerard was missing until yesterday at breakfast time. And then we turned up soon after to tell them we found him dead. So this went undetected until today. Remind me to tell Stiles to never put me in this place when I’m senile.”

Derek smiles at the joke but he doubts very much that Stiles would ever put his father into a home. He quickly shakes off the unbidden thought that the Hale house will be plenty big. That’s way too far in the future. He promised himself he wouldn’t look further than a day or two. No plans, no dreams, no pressure on Stiles.

He ducks under the tape and the lone technician in a white suit makes an instinctive gesture to stop him, but relents on the sheriff’s orders. It’s a different guy from yesterday but the air of suspicion is the same. He looks at the sheriff askance, making Derek wonder if Stilinski knows that he’s probably getting a reputation for being strange. What cover story is he even putting out there for Derek’s presence here or his trip to the morgue earlier?

There’s no need to go too close to know that Triple E has been here. But again Derek makes a show of looking at the bloody patch from different angles anyway and then does the same to the wheelchair. No words are exchanged until he’s walking back to the cruiser with the sheriff. “Definitely the same creature. I’d say Gerard got killed here and then dumped at the house.”

“That’s what I thought. Which means someone wants you implicated. With Kate in the mix, you make a good patsy.”

There may be another explanation but Derek doesn’t want to send the sheriff on a hunt that might prove too much for him to handle, so he doesn’t say anything.

They end up at a diner for lunch, where the sheriff bombards him with a barrage of questions about werewolves and other creatures he may come across. It’s a pleasant conversation and for once Derek doesn’t feel awkward around the other man. He’s here for his expertise, not as Stiles’s partner and their roles are more balanced for that.

Back at the station when Derek is already on his way to his own car, Stilinski calls him back one more time. “I think Stiles would be just as devastated to lose you, son.”

Derek takes a moment to put the remark into the context of their earlier conversation. Then he nods a thank you for the sentiment. He hopes it’s maybe a little true.

 

 

On Saturday Derek and Stiles take another drive up to the Curnocks. Derek has phoned ahead and wrangled an invite for the weekend but has no intention of staying that long. All he needs is a couple of talks. Having Stiles there should keep him safe from any ambushes of the matrimonial kind.

Warren and Virginia are very gracious and obviously curious to his intentions, but they make idle small talk until Stiles asks about Hannah and shortly thereafter disappears into her room with her. Derek tells himself that this was the plan all along and there’s no need to get agitated about it. While he’s happy to discuss anything in front of Stiles, both of them agreed that the Curnocks probably won’t be.

“I had a visit from one of your friends the other day,” he starts without preamble and tells them about Hank and his betas as well as the killings in Beacon Hills.

“I’m sorry about that,” Virginia says after he’s finished his tale. “Hank has always been a little radical but he’s gotten worse after his son was killed by hunters a couple of years back. We didn’t know he’d become that extreme, otherwise we wouldn’t have invited him to the mating.” She seems to sense Derek’s leeriness and adds, “We’re traditional, Derek, not zealous. I’m sorry you appeared on his radar just because you followed our invitation.”

“Do you know the other two?”

“The woman is his niece once removed, Samantha. She was set to marry Oliver, Hank’s son, so she’s probably out for revenge. I’m not sure about the other beta.”

“Sounds like one of the Bradley boys to me,” Warren says after a questioning look from his wife. “Probably Gary. That boy never did have a lick of sense.”

“And is there any way to stop him?” Derek doesn’t hold out much hope but he has to ask. “He’s putting the whole community at risk.”

“He is, but he won’t heed any warnings or threats of punishment. We’ve all become more isolated in recent years and everyone’s just minding their own business. You also don’t want to be perceived as weak, so sorting this out yourself will go a long way towards establishing your leadership. How’s your collaboration with McCall going?”

“It’s going okay.” It’s not an outright lie if you consider minimal contact ‘okay’. It’s probably as good as it’s ever going to get.

Both of them look at him for a long time, but in the end Virginia just says, “Scott’s such a lovely boy.”

Derek suppresses a derisive snort and acquiesces.

They have a late lunch, where Virginia tries to interrogate Stiles in the most charming and subtle manner and runs up against his unique brand of facetious talk and deflection. It’s very amusing and she seems to find it so as well, judging by her eventual smiling remark to Derek. “He’s a true emissary, if a little unconventional.”

Derek finds out why Hannah wasn’t at lunch when he visits Tabitha afterwards. The girl is at her bedside, having assisted her with her meal but slips out of the door when Derek asks to speak to the old emissary alone. He’s happy to see that Tabitha looks no different than she did on his last visit. She’s certainly a tough one and her eyes sparkle when she opens them after he gently calls her name.

“Derek.” There’s warmth in her voice. “I didn’t think I would see you again. Aren’t you worried to come here again?”

“I brought my mate for protection,” he smiles at her.

Tabitha laughs, which consists mainly of a rumbling sound in her throat. “He can certainly hold his own.”

“That he can. I’ve come to ask your advice.”

“I assumed so. Alan up to his usual parlor tricks of hints and obfuscation again?”

Derek chuckles, finding Deaton’s secretiveness funny maybe for the first time in his life. “I’m afraid I haven’t even bothered asking him.” Deaton certainly didn’t have anything useful to say about the goo Scott brought him.

“It’s a shame I’m too old now. I could train your new emissary. He’s so keen. It must be wonderful to have someone like him as a pupil. Now tell me your problem before I get too tired.”

Derek describes Triple E in as much detail as he can, which is woefully little.

“And you’ve only seen the one?”

Derek's heart sinks. “They come in packs?”

“No, in pairs. Mates. I’ve never seen one or even met anyone who has, but I’ve heard of them. They always come in twos. But there hasn’t been a sighting in centuries maybe as far back as antiquity. What an interesting life you lead, Derek Hale.”

Derek thinks he could really do with a little more monotony, but all he says is, “How can I defeat it?”

“You can’t.” Tabitha smiles sadly then suddenly grabs his hand as if she had an idea. “The Chosen One. You must get the Chosen One to fight them. This could be the evil from the prophecy. Get McCall to defeat it. He’ll know what to do.”

Derek sighs at the thought of trying to coordinate his efforts with Scott, not to mention that it rankles that Scott apparently can do things that he can’t. What’s the point of being an alpha when he still has to cater to someone else? He really much prefers to do things himself. But Tabitha seems so happy that she finally found the foretold Chosen One that he can’t begrudge her excitement. He simply watches her drift back off to sleep and slips out the door.

After an hour-long conversation that consists mainly of making apologies for leaving early and fending off entreaties to stay the weekend, they’re finally back on the road. Derek fills Stiles in on what he’s learned and predictably Stiles isn’t happy about it.

“Two of them? Oh man, I just got used to the idea of one of them creeping through our woods. Where did they even come from?” His voice changes from over-dramatic complaining to quiet contemplation. “What if she’s wrong and Scott can’t defeat it? That thing seems really invulnerable. I vote for not gambling Scott’s life on a shaky prophecy.”

“He won’t be alone.”

“Too right, he won’t.”

Derek decides against asking Stiles to stay away again. It’s most likely futile and he may have more luck discussing this with Scott. “What did Hannah have to say?”

“Hannah said there’s trouble in paradise. Apparently Valeska has found herself a _luver_. No one’s seen him yet, but apparently neither her nor his parents are happy about it, so Valeska sneaks out a lot. That’s why she wasn’t there today. I didn’t even know you guys could do that. How do you sneak past your parents when they have super hearing?”

“There’s ways,” Derek says vaguely. He can well imagine that Warren and Virginia aren’t happy about what’s going on if the boy isn’t in line to become alpha, but he can’t think of any reason the boy’s parents might not approve. Next to the Hales, the Curnocks are the most eminent family around, even more so now that the Hales are trading on their name and lineage and not much else.

“Are we stopping over somewhere?” Stiles asks in a complete non sequitur.

“We could stop for food and still make it home tonight. It’ll be late but you’re sleeping at the loft anyway so it doesn’t matter.”

“Not what I had in mind.”

There’s that certain timbre in his voice that Derek recognizes only too well. He shoots Stiles a glance, receiving a bright grin in return. “A motel? Really?”

“What could be better than raunchy motel sex?”

Derek can think of a million things better than staying in a room that reeks of previous occupants, their unsavory habits and inadequate cleaning efforts, but Stiles’s smell of arousal overrides any objections he might have. A motel is ultimately better than stopping by the side of the road and getting arrested for lewd behavior in public with a minor.

Twenty minutes later, he leaves Stiles in the car in front of a row of dated but clean-looking rooms while he goes to book them in at reception. The clerk barely looks up from the TV, which appears to be showing a re-run of _I Love Lucy_ , which Derek only recognizes because his grandmother loved the show. Why a pimply youth would find it fascinating is beyond him, but he’s grateful because he’s suddenly very much aware that he’s booking into a cheesy motel with an underage teenager. Luckily only his ID is required and no questions are asked.

When he returns to the car, Stiles is just putting his cellphone away and shouldering his backpack. “I called Dad.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That you want to fuck me into a motel mattress and that, no, it couldn’t wait until we got home.”

Derek stares at him, which is met by a serene look from Stiles. “Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

“You want me to lie to my dad?”

“At least tell him it was your idea. That would be the truth.”

Stiles grins. “I told him we’re staying over at the Curnocks.”

Derek shouldn’t feel as relieved as he does. It’s not as if Stilinski doesn’t know they’re having sex, but he’s the one person who always makes Derek aware of their age difference.

He trails Stiles into the room and locks the door, ignoring the light smell of dust in favor Stiles’s almost pheromonal scent. He’s pressed against the wood as soon as he turns and they’re kissing frantically with hands roaming everywhere, unable to decide where to touch first. Eventually he picks Stiles up and carries him to the bed, lying back on it and pulling Stiles on top of him while cushioning him. The teenager ruts against him, their hard cocks rubbing together through their jeans and Derek can’t help but buck up against him.

He loves kissing Stiles, whether it’s soft and languid or hard and demanding like this. Feeling Stiles so desperate against him is an incredible turn-on. Who wouldn’t be turned on when the one they love can’t seem to keep their hands off them? So he can’t bring himself to stop when Stiles doesn’t. It carries on and on, beautiful open mouth kisses, mingling spit and breathing each other’s breaths. He loves to hear Stiles panting and moaning and his cock is pushing hard against the confines of his clothes. His hand slips into Stiles’s jeans to knead his ass but doesn’t get any further than that. Stiles is wild and frenzied, his breath going from uneven to stuttering and Derek is overwhelmed by smelling and touching him. He can feel himself getting close to coming and there’s a nagging voice at the back of his mind, telling him that this isn’t such a good idea but his desire overrides it easily. He knows that Stiles is close, too, because he always knows when Stiles is near completion. And then it’s too late. He can feel Stiles suddenly stop all his movements and groan out his orgasm, pushing hard against his crotch, the sound and the movement combining with the scent in turn setting Derek off. He holds on to the body in his arms, thinking _Oh, shit_ and _This is so fucking good_ at the same time.

They wait until their breathing evens out while still on top of each other and then Stiles rolls off to lie next to him on the bed. “I came in my pants,” he huffs.

“Me, too.” And, yes, this would be the reason his brain kept telling him this wasn’t a good idea. He wasn’t planning on staying over, so he has no change of clothes. Only his other head didn’t seem to care at the time even though it now feels decidedly sticky and uncomfortable. “I hate you,” he says emphatically.

Stiles chuckles a little. “I always wanted to make you come in your pants. Always wondered if I could. Yeah, I’m just that good.” After a minute or two with neither one of them moving much, he rolls back on top of Derek, smoothing back his hair. “You wanted it though, didn’t you?”

“What? Getting my pants sticky like a teenager? I don’t think so.” But he knows that he wouldn’t miss this for the world, sticky pants and all. Anything Stiles wants to do is fine by him, as long as Stiles is happy.

Stiles smiles at him and Derek has that feeling again, that he’s missing something, that he doesn’t get it. Stiles shouldn’t look like that, so… resigned. “What?” he asks again, more serious this time.

“Nothing,” Stiles says and kisses him.

 

 

Despite managing to wash and dry his underwear overnight, the smell of sex lingers around him, although Derek’s sure he’s the only one whose nose is sensitive enough to smell it. Stiles, boy scout freak extraordinaire that he is, apparently carries spare underwear and socks in his ubiquitous backpack, along with his laptop, rechargers, a burner phone, a torch, a lighter, a Swiss army knife, a small tin with various powders and herbs, a vial of wolfsbane and an emergency ration of food complete with energy drink.

For breakfast, they stop at a diner two miles down the road. Derek would much rather go straight home but Stiles is hungry and Derek feels pleasantly tired after a night of sex and indulging in his guilty pleasure of watching Stiles sleep. The coffee is passable as is the toast. Stiles has ordered pancakes and is drizzling copious amounts of syrup over it. Derek follows the viscous fluid with his eyes as it slowly runs over the sides and finds its way onto the plate, where it starts to pool. It’s almost hypnotic, making him stare with unfocussed eyes in his tiredness, lost in his own somewhat sluggish thoughts.

“What?” Stiles stops what he’s doing to look at Derek. His voice is maybe a little bit uncertain now but his smile is wide.

“It’s the exact color of your eyes when you wake up in the loft in the morning.”

There’s no response and Derek finally tears himself away from his reverie of the food to find Stiles staring at him with wide eyes. _Shit!_ He’s tired and so he wasn’t paying attention and now he’s gone and freaked the brat out.

A grin spreads over Stiles’s face. “ _Awww_ , I knew you were a romantic at heart.” He rests his chin on his steepled fingers, tilts his head a little and flutters his eyelids. “Tell me more.”

It’s so much like him, deflecting discomfort with silliness. Derek feels his stomach hollow and gets up abruptly. “I need more coffee.” He can feel Stiles’s eyes on him as he stands by the counter to get a re-fill. When he returns to the table, Stiles still hasn’t started eating yet.

“I’m sorry, Derek.”

“What for?”

“I reacted badly. I was surprised. You don’t usually say stuff like that.”

Derek refrains from telling him how many more details of a similar nature he has stored in his head. He’s saving them up for when this is over because he wants to be able to remember every tiny little thing about Stiles forever. “I’m tired. My thoughts are barely coherent, never mind what comes out of my mouth. It’s fine. Forget it.”

“I don’t _want_ to forget it. It was so sweet and you never… you don’t usually… I liked it.”

Oh god, now he can practically feel the pity. He hates pity. He’ll have to be more careful in future. The last thing he wants is for Stiles to panic and leave if he realizes how pathetically in love Derek really is. “Okay. Eat your breakfast so we can go home.”

The ride back to Beacon Hills is unusually quiet. Stiles is pretending to be asleep, his head resting on his rolled-up sweater, facing the other way. Derek wants to say something to fix whatever this is but can’t find the words, making him wonder if it's the beginning of the end. Trust him to fuck up the best thing that's ever happened to him. He knew he would.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

**9.**

Derek senses her long before he spots her. It’s not easy to pinpoint a specific person in the bustle of the crowded shopping mall even when that person is a werewolf, but despite him moving around slowly, trying to pick up her scent, she doesn’t get further away from him – which can only mean that _she_ is tracking _him_. So he wanders with apparent aimlessness until she lets herself be noticed and followed. Her meandering through the mall is such a blatant invitation that it has _Trap!_ written all over it.

The problem with obvious traps is that they’re almost impossible to resist. If you’re prepared for trouble, you always think you’ve got the upper hand. He doesn’t think that at all since he knows there’s at least three of them. His main dilemma is that he hasn’t seen any of them for weeks and can’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. So he follows her, keeping a little distance, until she leaves and gets into her car, which just happens to be parked conveniently near his own. How stupid do they think he is?

He texts Isaac as he’s trailing her. He doesn’t want to call him because it’s not inconceivable that she can hear him at this distance.

_tracking werewolf in town. get ready. bring scott. DON’T TELL STILES!!!_

There’s only a short interval, in which he and the bait get nearer to the woods, until Isaac answers. _READY. WHERE R U?_

_going towards the old house_

He just knows that’s where they’re going. It seems to be the place where everything in his life is played out. In a strange way it’s rather fitting that he’ll live there again eventually.

The woman in the car in front of him no longer makes any effort to pretend she doesn’t know he’s there. He follows her closely and comes to a stop a little distance away from the house. There’s a large van parked out front and the woman comes to a stop next to it. On the veranda he can see Hank leaning against one of the posts with his arms crossed as if he owns the place. It makes Derek seethe with anger, which he tries to suppress as best he can.

He forces himself to remain calm, watching the woman – her name’s Samantha he reminds himself – climb the stairs and stand next to her uncle. He can’t see the other beta but he can hear his heartbeat inside the house. Cautiously, he scans the rest of the area before he sends one last text to Isaac.

_at the house. all 3 here. use stealth._

He takes the time to clear the texts on his phone in case they’ll manage to take it off him and gets out of the car. For a few moments they all just stay where they are, watching each other, Derek with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, the other two in the shade of the veranda. As Derek is trying to give Isaac and Scott more time to get here, he’s in no particular hurry to cut this stand-off short.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Hank finally asks, his voice somewhere between amused and contemptuous.

Derek shrugs and waits a little longer before he slowly makes his way to the house. The side door of the van is open, so he gives it a cursory look as he passes it but it appears to be empty. He stops a short distance away from the steps. “What do you want, Hank?”

“I want to show you something.” Hank smiles and disappears into the house.

Derek shrugs again to indicate how little interest he has in this but ascends the stairs anyway.

Samantha smiles at him and it appears genuine. “Nice to see you again.”

He huffs. “You’re in _my_ house. On _my_ property. Without invitation. _Again_. Excuse me if I don’t return the sentiment.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says.

He contemplates how much of an advantage it would give him if he just slit her throat right here and now, but he’s not a killer. He can’t bring himself to attack without direct and immediate provocation. So he ambles into his house and stops short when he sees a large square container in the middle of his living room. It’s made of glass and filled with what appears to be water, with an inner tank containing an oil-like dark grey mass. He steps closer almost against his will.

The mass moves a little in a slow, billowing motion but doesn’t take any distinct form. It’s Triple E in its original state. There’s not much room for it to move, so it can only fill some of the corners, while withdrawing from others.

“How did you catch it?” It’s probably too much to hope that they captured it out of the kindness of their hearts to make life easier for him and everyone else in Beacon Hills.

Hank chuckles. “This one was never free. When we conjured them, we trapped this one as soon as it came up.”

“You conjured it? How? Why?”

“Ah, you still have much to learn. And your emissary is still so young and inexperienced. You should have stuck with Deaton. If you know the right incantation, you can conjure up just about anything. If you have the money to buy a witch’s help that is. As for the why: what better weapon is there than a creature that can’t be vanquished?”

“What is it?” Derek moves around the tank without any reaction from the entity. “Why is it surrounded by water?”

“I don’t think it has a real name. The Greeks called it Antaeus, I believe, but not much else is known about it. The water is to keep it contained. They can’t cross water, which is strange because they can pass through just about anything else. We keep this one in here so that the other one does our bidding.”

Derek tears his gaze away from the tank and looks at Hank, who has a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He always knew that Triple E and the vigilante wolves were connected. They had admitted having someone kill the hunters during their first visit and when he found Gerard killed by Triple E, he knew that both had to be connected. He just couldn’t work out how they were doing it. This is how, conjure up a mythical creature, capture its mate and it will do whatever you want. He knows only too well how vulnerable your loved ones make you.

“What do you want from me?” he asks again.

“We told you to clear up your town. You didn’t. So we’re doing it for you. Old Argent was first. His son and granddaughter are next. But first of all we’ll get rid of that abomination that supposedly managed to become a true alpha. Or so they say. I still think he found an alpha somewhere and killed for his power. He’s an unnatural after all.”

“He’s more natural than you’ll ever be,” Derek spits out. A hot flash of panic runs through him at the thought that he told Isaac to bring Scott. It looks like he led him right into a trap and for once he hopes that Scott sticks to his usual obstinacy and doesn’t show up.

Hank shakes his head and tuts. “Such misguided loyalties. I had hopes for you to run this town after we cleaned it up. But you may not be suitable after all. I would have expected more from a Hale. Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

“My mother would have ripped out your throat a long time ago,” Derek says, despite his conviction that Hank’s right about how she’d feel about her son if she could see him now. A noise distracts him from the werewolves in the room. It’s a sound he’d recognize anywhere. The jeep! To his dismay he’s not the only one who hears it as Gary gives one of his sub-vocal warnings. Which part of ‘use stealth’ was hard to understand? The part where no one was supposed to tell Stiles about this was always just wishful thinking.

Hank nods. “Right on time. Who did you invite to the party, Derek? Could it be the fabled true alpha? Shall we have a look to see how great and true he really is?”

Derek follows them out onto the porch and is just in time to see Triple E – in the guise of Allison – throw Scott through the air, making him crash into a tree. Isaac is frozen in place, so is Kira and it’s only Stiles – who else? – who‘s rushing to the aid of his best friend, brushing past Triple E and turning to face the creature when he reaches Scott. Derek doesn’t hesitate for a second, running towards the scene over by the tree line and watching in amazement as Triple E shimmers for a moment and transforms into… himself. Seeing his own double is eerie beyond belief. Derek wolves out as he’s running but the shift feels even more different now than it did last time. He ignores it as soon as his claws and fangs are out and he feels the usual power surge that his wolf gives him.

The teenagers circle cautiously, reluctant to attack. They haven’t been healing since birth so they’re habitually trying to avoid getting hurt in the first place, an instinct too long ingrained to ignore. It’s a problem that needs training to overcome it, which Scott refuses on principle and Derek hasn’t gotten around teaching to Isaac yet, especially since it can only really be taught by inflicting pain. For now, the bitten wolves remain cautious. Derek, on the other hand, considers pain a temporary inconvenience that he needs to rise above to get the job done. While he’s running he notices Stiles hanging back after he helps Scott to his feet. That’s good although Derek would prefer it if he was even further away from the altercation, much, much further.

“Derek,” Stiles says in relief when Derek comes to halt in front of him, shielding both him and Scott from the danger. The creature shimmers again, this time into Stiles. It must have some intelligence because it obviously remembers Derek and his weakness without touching him.

“Woah,” Stiles exclaims, “That is so freaky.”

Derek can’t but agree while he can only watch as Isaac throws himself at the creature and is repelled like he was before, sailing a good ten yards through the air. This time he remains conscious.

“It’s an Antaeus,” Derek grits out, hoping that it will mean something to Stiles after all his research. He dashes forwards to attack, eliciting a strangled noise from Stiles. Derek can feel the force of his opponent trying to repel him but he’s prepared for it and managed to counterbalance and push against it. Despite having Stiles in the flesh at his back he cannot bring himself to slash at the replica.

The creature suddenly slithers into the ground with enormous speed, leaving Derek to have to catch his balance as he pushes against thin air without warning. Everyone is frantically looking around for it, when it materializes right next to Stiles and Scott, now resembling Allison again. Derek whirls back around and pulls Stiles behind himself despite his protests.

Scott has long since got up but is faced with the same problem Derek had, he cannot bring himself to hurt the replica of the person he values the most, so he ends up being thrown into another tree. Derek speeds over to assist him as Triple E advances on the other alpha, ignoring Stiles’s frantic, “Remember that Scott can defeat it.”

It doesn’t look like it right now as Scott flies through the air again, landing on his back with a loud thud. The other two werewolves are shifting now. Finally. Why is Scott always so reluctant to turn when he knows that it gives him so much more physical strength? Derek would never attack anyone without shifting unless he’s in a public place. Why shun his advantages? For a moment he’s distracted by his own transformation. Everything is as it should and yet it feels incomplete. He shuts down the conscious thought and lets instinct take over as he goes on the attack.

“All together,” he shouts and Isaac and, to his surprise, Scott both follow suit.

The creature shifts rapidly back and forth between Allison and Stiles, seemingly confused whom to settle on. Derek finally manages to get a few slashes in, while the other two are thrown back again. The thing has claws now, and both Isaac and Scott have slashes on their bodies. Scott’s heal faster as they should for an alpha, leaving him to attack again, without being able to get close. This time the slashes are on his face.

Derek tries to stay between the creature and Stiles just in case it decides to extend its advantage by actually threatening or harming him instead of just impersonating him. As the strange being is more focused on Scott, either because he’s the bigger threat or because it was told to, it looks more often like Allison and Derek has less qualms about attacking it in that form. But all the injuries he inflicts heal within seconds, faster than he’s ever seen any werewolf heal.

This is hopeless, the creature has superior speed and healing powers, and so far only Derek has actually managed to get close to it.

“Lift it up,” Stiles shouts from behind him.

“What?” Derek pushes against the repelling defenses to inflict another wound that closes as soon as his claws withdraw.

“Lift it off the ground.”

Derek doesn’t hesitate. He surges forward again, tackling fake-Allison around the hips and practically ripping the creature off the ground. It’s a lot heavier than a person and he finds himself holding above his head with difficulty. It still looks like Allison, which surprises him because it should know by now that that particular form doesn’t deter Derek much. He expects getting slashed but nothing happens. He turns with the thing slung over his shoulder and looks questioningly at Stiles.

Stiles has his phone in his hand, reading from it, and explains, “It takes its power from the earth. No connection, no power. You basically just pulled the plug.”

“Great, and what do I do now? I can’t stand here forever.” He looks over to the house to see Hank and his betas getting ready for battle. Then he thinks of all he’s learned today about how Triple E is controlled. It might be stupid to expect a mythical being to have logical reactions or even emotional ones, but it has shown some intelligence. “Isaac, Scott, take out the werewolves. There’s another creature inside in a tank. Smash the tank.”

“Are you crazy?” Scott sneers. “We just found a way to stop this one and you want to let another one loose?”

“Just do what he says,” Stiles says. “I think I know what he has in mind.” He turns to Derek with a grin. “I told you you’re a true romantic at heart.”

Then he follows Isaac and Scott towards the house. Kira pulls out a huge thin-bladed sword and joins the fray. Derek is even more impressed with her than he has been up to now. She manages to draw Gary into a fight while Isaac and Scott fall on Hank and Samantha. Stiles simply rounds the house, avoiding the fight altogether.

“Stiles, no!” Derek shouts. The idea wasn’t for Stiles to face the other entity alone. He’s supposed to wait until the other pack is defeated and they can all do this together. But naturally Stiles has other ideas and Derek watches helplessly as his mate disappears from his view to do something probably incredible stupid and dangerous where Derek can’t see, never mind protect him. All he receives is a withering look from Stiles over his shoulder. It’s tempting to just put the creature down but then they would all have another opponent again and it would side with Hank and his betas. So Derek keeps staggering under the weight he’s carrying in the form of a heavyweight high school girl, stopping him from influencing any of the events around him.

Moments later he hears the unmistakable sounds of broken glass. He closes his eyes for a second to fight down the panic he feels at the thought of what might be happening inside the house. When he opens them again, he’s just in time to see the other entity materialize right in front of him about five feet away. It’s slower than the one he’s holding and it’s not taking any particular form. Maybe it’s been weakened during its captivity. Derek drops the body on his shoulders onto the ground in front of it where it immediately reverts to a shapeless form.

The two entities slide together into a tangled mass and for the first time, he can distinguish that they’re two almost but not quite identical shades of grey. Then they separate quickly and just as quickly disappear into the earth. Derek hopes that he hasn’t just unleashed double the destruction but he doesn’t think so. It’s more likely that they will never be seen again.

Without hesitation he turns to the fighting over by the house. Kira is doing quite well holding Gary in check, who doesn’t seem to want to charge against a blade that could conceivably end his life. She certainly has the speed and skill for it, although Derek doubts she has the conviction to kill. Which explains why Gary is still alive.

Isaac, on the other hand, is pinned against the wall barely holding his ground with Samantha and Scott is equally in trouble against Hank, who’s driving him towards the front door with long slashes. Derek races up the stairs, still unsure why his shift feels incomplete when he has transformed as far he usually does. He ignores that thought once more and rescues Isaac by throwing Samantha off the veranda, giving his beta much needed breathing space.

He thinks he should neutralize the woman first, so that Isaac can help Scott and Derek can take Gary out of the running more permanently than Kira is doing. But any thought goes out of his head when Stiles appears in the doorway with his bat. Hank immediately shifts position so he’s forcing Scott away from the door. It’s obvious that he’s after Stiles. He must know that if he can get his hands on him, he’ll have the upper hand. Both Scott and Derek will do anything to save Stiles.

Derek can’t let that happen. He abandons Samantha to Isaac and turns towards Hank, shifting further in the process. How is that even possible? There _is_ no further. He crashes into the man with a slightly uncoordinated movement and ends up pinning his back to the floor. All of Derek's clothes hang strangely on his body all of a sudden, getting in the way and when he looks at his own arms they are slimmer than before, covered in black fur and end in paws that have long claws extended and digging into Hank’s chest. What the fuck?

“Derek,” Stiles and Isaac say in unison, both of them sounding surprised and awed.

“I’m okay,” Derek wants to say but there’s only a snarl. He looks at the parts of himself that he can see and realizes that he has transformed into an actual wolf. His mother could do this, of course, but it was always understood that it was extremely rare. A full wolf transformation is considered the ultimate achievement. Most people are somewhere on the spectrum between human and wolf, or beyond, like Peter and Jackson were, each transformation being a reflection of personality and inner strength.

Derek moves away from Hank, who scrambles back until he’s leaning against a wall. Both of his betas have stopped fighting and everyone is staring at Derek. His nails click on the floorboards in an eerie imitation of Kali. He looks helplessly at Stiles, who’s coming closer without fear and touches the top of Derek's head, which is almost on the same level as Stiles’s chest.

“You were right,” Stiles says serenely. “Your shift sure is different.”

Derek takes three tries to shift back into human form. This will take some getting used to. As does the fact that he’s only wearing his t-shirt, now properly filled out again, and Stiles hastily scrambles to hand him his underwear and pants while shielding him somewhat with his body. To Derek the nudity isn’t much of a concern. He is too relieved that it seems like he has inherited something from his mother after all. For the first time since the fire he believes that she would be proud of something he’s achieved.

“How did you do that?” Hank croaks from his position on the floor. “You’re not even from an unbroken line of alphas.”

Derek steps forward and looms over him. “You set far too much store by genetics. Let it be known that Beacon Hills is protected by two alphas, who will not stand for any interference. You’re lucky we let you live. But if I hear that you’re conjuring up anything else, I will personally hunt you down.”

“I won’t. I swear. I won’t go against the Chosen One.”

“Good. Now get the fuck off my property.”

Hank scrambles to his feet and he and his betas make their way to their SUV to drive off at high speed. Derek watches them for a while, then slips into his shoes because there’s water and glass all over the floor.

“I think he’s right, you know,” Stiles says solemnly. “Scott was never the Chosen One. It was you all along.”

“What are you talking about?” Derek asks.

“The prophecy? Remember? Tabitha said only the Chosen One can defeat the evil. Well, you did. The proof is in the pudding as they say. And let’s face it, you’re really the twice blessed wolf. I bet there aren’t many werewolves who become alpha twice because usually when they lose it the first time that means they’re dead.”

As usual Stiles makes a lot of sense. Derek's reaction isn’t much more than an internal ‘ _oh_ ’. Scott looks dubious, which Derek can whole-heartedly understand because he always has doubts about Scott being deserving of his alpha status, so it stands to reason that Scott would feel the same way about Derek. However, Scott doesn’t voice any of his thoughts, just glares at Isaac, who’s beaming at Derek.

“You were awesome out there,” his beta says.

“Yeah, you were,” Stiles agrees.

Derek just nods, then looks at Scott. “Thanks for coming out to help.”

“Isaac insisted.”

Derek gives Isaac a smile before turning back to the other alpha. “Still, you didn’t have to. So thanks.” There can’t be any harm in trying to build some bridges. “You, too, Kira. Good work with the letter opener.”

Kira smiles a subdued smile and twiddles her sword in her hand. Now that the fight is over, she’s reverted back to her usual awkwardness.

After everyone has been standing around uncomfortably for a few moments, Stiles hands Scott the keys to his jeep. “You can take everyone home. I have to talk to Derek. Come back for me when you’ve dropped everyone off.”

Derek stands on the veranda with Stiles and watches the taillights disappear. Eventually Stiles huffs a little. “Well, now we all know who Scott’s still hung up on. Because it wasn’t Kira that thing turned into, it was Allison. Can we all say _awkward_?”

Derek hasn’t really considered that. He feels an unexpected pang of sadness for Kira, whom he genuinely likes, a lot more than Allison, that’s for sure. Then he follows Stiles, who has gone into the house and now starts sweeping up the glass. The water is already seeping into the yet unvarnished wood.

“I couldn’t help but notice that it turned into me when you brushed past it,” Derek says smiling because it only just occurred to him what that means.

Stiles stops what he’s doing and looks at him with a strange expression. “Who else would it turn into?”

Derek shrugs. “Your father? Scott?”

There’s a long pause that suddenly feels very uncomfortable. “ _Really_? And what do you think I’m doing with _you_? Just having sex? Freeloading at your loft? Is that what you think?”

Derek's stomach shrinks uncomfortably. This has turned from a happy revelation into something scary and painful in seconds. Somehow that happens to him a lot. “No. I don’t think that. I know that…” He pauses because he doesn’t know how to phrase it.

“You know _what_? Derek?” Stiles is challenging him now. And he’s very angry. How did they get here this fast?

“I know that you’re in love with me?” It comes out as a question not so much because Derek has doubts about that but more because what he really means is that he’s worried how permanent that feeling is.

“Do you? I hope so because I don’t like the implications if that isn’t true. Yes, Derek, I’m in love with you. And I love you. I told you often enough.” It sounds kind of harsh, not at all like a declaration of love and more like an accusation.

“Stiles…” Derek has no idea what he wants to say, other than: _please don’t be like this_. So he goes with the truth, “I love you.”

For a moment Stiles closes his eyes and breathes deeply and Derek thinks that maybe he’s managed to skirt past yet another disaster. Those narrow escapes seem to have become increasingly common recently and it’s only a matter of time until one of them breaks loose. Then Stiles looks at Derek and his unforgiving tone hasn’t really changed. “The funny thing is I believe you. I’ve always believed that. I couldn’t be with you if I didn’t. And I thought that maybe after Kate it was hard for you to say things like that, so I never expected you to say anything. It was okay that you never said it because I knew. But I also believed that you knew that I love you, too. And now you’re standing there and make it sound like a huge revelation to you. And that hurts. I haven’t ever held back with my feelings for you. Do you really not trust me after all this time?”

“I do. I just… you’re so young. I don’t want to put too much on you. So that you can change your mind without pressure.”

Stiles gapes at him but instead of the expected outburst, he speaks very quietly, “And that’s the whole problem right there. A relationship is not about easy-outs or not overloading your partner with emotions. It’s about feelings, strong, overwhelming feelings that you shouldn’t be able to hold back or even want to. And it’s about wanting to keep your partner at all costs because life would be unbearable without them. That’s how I feel about you. But you’re rationalizing and weighing options all the time. Because I got it all wrong, didn’t I? Your problem isn’t that you don’t trust me, it’s that you don’t trust yourself. You’re not worried that I’ll betray you and turn into Kate. You’re worried that _you_ will.”

Derek can feel the bottom drop out of his world not because Stiles has hit on the truth, but because it has the sick ring of finality to it. He steps forward but Stiles retreats at the same pace, so Derek stops. “Stiles…?” _Don’t do this! Please, don’t do this! You’re killing me!_ “You’re still so young and I love you so much.” It feels like his lungs can’t get enough air.

“Yeah,” Stiles says quietly. “You just don’t trust me. You don’t trust me to do anything, otherwise you wouldn’t tell your pack to not bring me to a fight when I told you specifically not to leave me behind. And you would know that what I feel for you is no schoolboy crush. I’m young, Derek, but I know what I want. I want you. But I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep fighting against how you see me. I love you, I really do, but it’s obviously not enough. Not for you. And not for me. You don’t _see_ me anymore.”

Derek can see his whole life slip through his fingers. This can’t be happening. The panic he experiences threatens to overwhelm him. What is he supposed to do? He remembers what the sheriff told him. “I’m sorry. I love you, Stiles.” He doesn’t like how helpless and resigned that sounds.

“I know you do. I know you would give your life for me. But the question is: is that because you love me so much or because you don’t value your own life enough or both?” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t be your… I can’t be that important to you and at the same time not be trusted to make my own decisions.”

“Stiles. Please.” He doesn’t even know what he’s pleading for. For Stiles to stop talking mostly because it’s painfully obvious where this is heading. Some part of him wants to prevent Stiles from saying the words by any means possible, by begging or kissing him or simply putting a hand over his mouth. But his throat is tightening painfully because he knows it won’t make any difference in the end. Stiles’s mind is made up.

“I need a partner who takes me seriously. Who doesn’t try to bench me when things are happening. Who respects me enough to let me know how much he loves me. Who doesn’t expect me to leave at any moment. Who doesn’t think of me as a clueless teenager. Who doesn’t make decisions for me.”

“What are you saying?” As if he doesn’t know. He _knows_ only too well. He just doesn’t want it to be true.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ll be going to college soon and I know you’ve stopped wanting to go away to college with me a while ago. And I understand. You’re an alpha now and you need to be with your pack.” His voice is sounding hoarse now.

“That’s not…” …the reason he stopped discussing colleges with Stiles. He _wants_ to go with him, wants nothing more than that. He just thought Stiles didn’t want it anymore. Did he get it wrong? Did Stiles stop talking about it because Derek did? Derek would never bring it up by himself. He didn’t want to pressure Stiles. Just like he never initiates sex or talks about how much he loves him. All so that Stiles would be free to do exactly this: change his mind. It was inevitable. In the end he only has the strength to say exactly what’s going through his mind. “I’ll wait.” Because he knows he will wait for Stiles to come back to him for the rest of his life.

Stiles positively explodes. “You are so infuriating! You have no idea how much I hate you right now.”

Even being aware that it’s just an expression born from frustration, Derek feels it like a body blow. He watches Stiles stomp past him, taking the steps two at a time, and stalk down the path. He seems determined to walk all the way back to town or at least as far as he’ll get before Scott comes back for him in the jeep.

So it finally happened. And the irony is that it happened because of the things Derek forced himself to do – or not do – to prevent it. It shouldn’t hurt this much. He was _prepared_. From day one he knew that Stiles would leave eventually. How could he not? But the tightness in his throat has spread to his chest and become debilitatingly painful. He wants the world to just stop. How can life just go on when he just lost everything dear to him? There should be jarring noise and not this silent despair. But his heart always breaks so quietly, rendering him helpless with hidden pain. Only, he can’t remember ever feeling like this before, not when there wasn’t death to go with it. It’s too much to contain. Surely it will burst out of him any moment now.

He watches Stiles’s stiff gait and hunched shoulders and the urge to follow him and try and make him feel better is almost overwhelming. _Turn around and look at me,_ he repeats over and over in his head over because if Stiles does, then there might a chance that he’s feeling some regret and there might be the tiniest of possibilities that this can be mended somehow. _Turn around and look at me! Please!_ His eyes follow Stiles until the path takes him into the trees and he disappears from sight. Not once does he glance over his shoulder. Derek knew he wouldn’t.

So he does what he promised himself he’d do when the time comes: he lets Stiles go.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

His days are monotonous. He doesn’t sleep much, so he gets up early every morning. Nowadays he even manages to do that without first rolling himself into a ball of misery for half an hour. It took him two months to get to this point. The loneliness that hits him when he wakes up – _every time_ he wakes up – is like a crushing pain, but hugging himself and wallowing in it doesn’t help, so he’s stopped doing that. Buying a new mattress that doesn’t smell of Stiles may also have helped.

He does a hundred push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups before he gets ready for the day. Food consists of what his body demands but there’s no pleasure in it. If someone gave him a pill with all his daily requirements, he would happily exist on that. Everything tastes bland and chewing is an effort.

During the day, he’s out at the house. In the beginning he couldn’t even do that because he needed to run. So he did. For miles and in every direction, with or without being shifted. Once he came across another ‘sinister spot’ but it was old and the sensation was fading. The same goes for the area where Gerard’s body was dumped. He can walk over that now and, although he feels it each time, it’s no longer disturbing and will vanish in time. He has long since renewed the floor boards in his living room, where the second Antaeus was released.

After three months he no longer _needs_ to run. As long as he keeps busy everything’s bearable – just. There are some saving graces. When he lost people before, it was always because he’d been stupid and naïve and he was unprepared. This time he knew, so at least he doesn’t feel like an idiot. But more importantly he knew what a blessing Stiles was in his life while he was with him. The times before, he only ever realized afterwards what he’d lost. This time he knew to appreciate it while it lasted. He had eight months of bliss during which he treasured every single moment. Unfortunately that doesn’t make it any easier.

He usually works until the light gives out, exhausting himself to a point that he knows will allow him to get some sleep. The roof is secure now so he works in all weather conditions. After four months he finishes the re-wiring and manages to re-connect the electricity.

In the evenings he always drives past Stiles’s house to check that the jeep is there. If it’s not, he checks again later until it is. He has developed a knack for avoiding running into Stiles, conducting all his daily needs, like shopping and going to the gas station, late at night. His main personal contact is Isaac, who’s still training with him, and Cora when she’s home from college. He prefers it that way. He knows he’s not good company.

He’s never felt like this before. He’s never been in a situation where the person causing him pain isn’t out of reach or dead, but simply doesn’t want to be with him. It means restraint every waking minute of the day. _Don’t go near him! Don’t try and talk to him! Don’t text! Don’t phone! Don’t stalk!_ How is he supposed to do that when there’s no anger? Stiles hasn’t done anything wrong. He wanted to be with Derek and now he doesn’t. Just like Derek knew he would eventually. Everybody leaves one way or another. He tells himself that he’s glad Stiles could make this decision, that he’s not gone because he’s dead but simply because he wants to be gone. It’s very true, but somehow that doesn’t make it hurt any less, just differently.

It’s the beginning of September when he hears the jeep while he’s doing some plumbing. At first he thinks he’s misheard or that Stiles is just going to some other part of the preserve but it’s soon obvious that the sound is coming towards the house. In the past months he’s been dreaming about this scenario hundreds of time – in his sleep and even more so when he’s awake. He’s had hundreds of conversations with Stiles in his head, all of them ending in Stiles being persuaded somehow to try again. Now that this much anticipated talk is actually going to happen, he wants to play it cool and not react like a lovesick schoolboy, but in the end he’s waiting on the veranda before the car even comes into view.

Stiles gets out of the jeep and slowly walks over to him without making eye contact. Derek notices everything in those few steps. He’s lost weight that he certainly didn’t need to lose in the first place. He looks pasty now where he used to be just pale. And there are dark circles under his eyes making him appear exhausted. Derek wants to scoop him up and coddle him until he’s better or, failing that, admonish him for not looking after himself. And yet Stiles is still breathtakingly beautiful.

“So I graduated,” Stiles says without preamble.

Derek knows that. The ceremony was held on the lacrosse field, allowing Derek to be there without being seen, lurking in the trees like he did in the beginning. Lydia made a speech that was so subtly throwing shade on the town in general and the school in particular that hardly anyone noticed. It was maybe a little unfair to blame people for not noticing what she and her friends try their hardest to keep hidden but Derek was amused anyway. And he was so proud of Stiles when he walked across the stage.

Derek just nods in acknowledgement, waiting for the punchline. It follows almost immediately.

“So, Stanford happened as well. I got a full scholarship. Dad and I are going down there for a couple of days tomorrow to settle me in.”

Derek takes a step back, the punchline feeling more like an actual punch. It’s not as if he didn’t know. Stiles came third in his year, just behind Lydia and some girl called Amber. He had looked at colleges even before he was certain of his grades. This was always the plan. It’s just that at some stage Derek was part of that and now all he’s got left is to wonder why Stiles is even telling him when they haven’t spoken in months.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Derek manages to grit out. He really needs to work on his poker face.

“Like you didn’t know I was going to college. Like you didn’t know it was now. Like we didn’t always plan this.”

Derek finally manages to cover his pain with anger. It allows him to breathe, if nothing else. “Yes, I remember planning to go to college. _Together._ But then you changed your mind about that. You stopped talking about it. Because I wasn’t part of the plan any longer, was I? Long before I wasn’t part of your life any longer.” _Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this to him when it’s all over._

Stiles looks at him agape. Then he snarls back angrily. “Don’t put this on me. _You_ stopped talking about going to college with me. You became an alpha again and everything changed. I get that you have to lead the pack. And it would make perfect sense for you to stick around here if you actually _had_ a pack. But Cora’s not here and Isaac could cope with long-distance coaching, so the only reason I could see that stopped you from making plans with me, from coming with me, was that you didn’t want to. That you didn’t trust me enough. That you were too chicken-shit to make that leap.”

“This is _your_ life, Stiles. It was _your_ decision. It wasn’t something I could push you into. I had no right to do that.”

“You had _every_ right! You had every right to say that you wanted us to stay together, that you wanted to be with me. We were in a relationship and if you don’t say these things, you know what that looks like? Like you don’t really care. Like you don’t feel the same way. If you think that proving your love means that you let me go, that you practically push me away, then you have real issues, man. That’s not what love is.”

“But you are so…” Derek starts but is interrupted by a very irate Stiles stepping close to him and hissing in his face.

“If you tell me one more time that I’m too young to know my shit, I swear I will kick you where it hurts. I am eighteen now. I can vote. I can join the army. I can marry. I can go off the college. But I’m too young to know who I love? Who I want to be with? If you think that, then you never should have touched me. I can make an informed decision, Derek, and I could do the same last year and even the year before that. Do you think my dad would have let me be with you if he had any doubts? He doesn’t. Because _he_ knows me.” Stiles steps back, suddenly deflated. “I thought you did, too.”

He turns and walks down the steps, pausing there and speaking without turning around. “I didn’t come here to argue. I just didn’t wanna leave without telling you. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

Derek watches him get into his jeep and drive off, and he wonders how he’s going to survive without having Stiles nearby. How is he going to protect his mate when he’s hundreds of miles away? How is he going to sleep at night not knowing for sure if Stiles made it home safely that evening?

How is this not going to kill him?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs and hides*  
> Now you know why I wrote the last part before I started posting this one. This is very much the middle part of the trilogy.  
> I can’t post next week, which is why I posted the last two (or rather one and a half) chapters today, but I will start posting Part Three the week after that, so you won’t be left hanging for too long. If you’re not too frustrated/upset/annoyed to read on, that is. I do hope you’ll stick with it. :-)


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